


$20 Nosebleeds (make you rich and famous)

by MelodramaticMrTails



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Reality, Canonical Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-05-16 12:58:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 47,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14811828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodramaticMrTails/pseuds/MelodramaticMrTails
Summary: Kaczmarek is a brilliant programmer working under den master Desmond Miles. Known as the 'modern da Vinci' of the Brotherhood, his work is highly regarded, he has an equally genius partner, a great boyfriend, and a place to call home. Too bad his body has been taken over by- a different Clay Kaczmarek?





	1. Desync

Desmond.

Desmond. Desmond. Desmond.

He's probably fine and definitely not dead. Oh what, he's fine because _you_ helped him as if anything you've ever done has gone just _peachy_ _dory_ all the way around. He's too stupid to be fine on his own, that's for sure.

Wait.

Why is he thinking? Clay realises, belatedly, he shouldn't be thinking. He shouldn't be _anything_. He should be a scrambled, unfathomable congregation of what used to be a hastily made program swimming somewhere in the animus’ recycling bin awaiting to be even further wiped off the map and forgotten about. He should be dead, more dead than the first time he should have been dead.

“Time to get up Mr. Kaczmarek.”

This is hell. This is what hell is. He died just to come back to the _fucking_ animus research centre to resume his _hellish_ hell. The very sound of Vidic’s voice triggers a reaction in him that he hasn't felt to this degree since he was reactivated inside the animus. He's going to have a panic attack in hell.

Everything about this is sheer _bullshit_. He thought assassins didn't believe in a higher power and thus, that ‘power’ didn't believe in them. Why is he in _hell_? Why can't he just fade into the void, vast emptiness of nonexistent like he's wanted to for so long? He's had to kill himself twice for it, he deserves it!

“Sixteen!” Vidic barks when Clay doesn't even budge from his vaguely paralyzed position. This doesn't make sense. No, he's not dead. Death would be too kind for someone like him. Perhaps he fell even deeper into the animus’ system or, maybe even, Desmond’s own brain. It would have been an accident, Clay wasn't trying to tag along, he swears. Desmond made it clear that wasn't what he wanted.

Slowly, he opens his eyes to look at his hands but they're _real_. He's real and this is his body- this is his body very, very briefly before he had died the first time. His entire forearms are bandaged up, pink with blood that seeps through, and painful to move even just a little bit. When he flexes, trying to ignore the pain of it, his fingers twitch harshly like the very nerves that connect them are fucked. If today is really the day he kills himself, then-

“We've searched all your little hiding spots, Sixteen. We’re not done with you until we say we're done with you, do you understand?” Vidic says sourly, exactly how Clay remembers it. He's wrong, though. After Vidic leaves today and before Lucy comes back to force him into that thing _again_ , he finishes his work with a piece of glass he's hidden away in a tight, dark corner. It's honestly a miracle he even finishes it, so much of his blood pours out so fast he actually isn't sure he ever did finish. The last half hour or so of his first life were hazy to put lightly.

“Get _up_ ,” Vidic demands harshly and slowly, Clay pulls himself into a sitting position and then to the edge of the bed. This is real or maybe it just feels real because he, himself, is not anymore. It does seem unlikely that the artificial memories from his programmed state would travel over upon his death- or anywhere else, honestly. That seems like a moot point when he's _alive_ again. He gets to his feet and it's harder than he remembers, having gone so long without a body and suddenly being back inside his scrawny, nearly dead one is disorientating. It's easy to forget about this especially when he had tried so hard to.

“Good,” Vidic scoffs. “We don't have all day. Come along.” Clay considers his options. If he plays along and lives out this day as intended, he's sure it'll just loop back around, he has no reason to think it won't. He could go straight for Vidic but he doubts Lucy would help him, she's changed coats already, and his body is too weak to kill Vidic before the guards arrived. Clay isn't even sure if he can get his fingers to curl properly.

Desmond never understood his signs, anyways. Clay isn't sure it helped anyone in the long run expect maybe keeping himself sane just a little bit longer. He doesn't have to finish them. He could suffer this out, leave signs for Desmond to find the glass shard, and hope he can finish Vidic off and escape himself. That means suffering through more of this than he's supposed to until he can find something else to kill himself with or until his body just gives out on its own. That seems more likely at this point. They won't even stitch him up because they know he'll literally rip them out.

All of these thoughts immediately leave his head when he sees the animus again. He truly thought he could handle this, he's lived in the damn thing long enough, but being face to face again with the very thing that killed him is more fear inducing than he expected. If he goes in there- he _can't_ go in there- but if he does, there's no telling what will happen. He's not the same Clay Kaczmarek that went in the first time, he has literal _code_ in his head now, code specifically for the animus to read.

If he goes in there, he doesn't know what they'll find.

“Get in the animus, Sixteen,” Vidic instructs firmly, impatiently gesturing to it and sending another streak of panic through Clay. His heart is pounding painfully until it's all he can hear and he feels he’s close to passing out. He's close to a complete fucking breakdown which, honestly, is about how this day went, yeah.

Something is different, though; Lucy isn't looking at him. She isn't giving him that ‘people are watching but I swear I'm sorry’ bullshit expression, she isn't trying to discreetly encourage him to just work with them a little longer, she isn't- this isn't right. He knows time is a very finicky mistress but surely he hasn't changed things so violently already.

“You have five seconds to get in the animus before we call your little friends again, Sixteen,” Vidic warns. Clay is no stranger to the guards or being manhandled and drugged into submission. They only fucking way they're getting him in that fucking machine ever again is with enough drugs to put a fucking horse down, that's for damn sure.

Just as Clay is about to inform Vidic of his decision, it becomes irrelevant. Clay's own heart is so loud he doesn't hear the door open and he certainly doesn't hear the muffled gunshot that drops him like a log or the sound he makes when he hits the ground for that matter. One shot, that's all it takes. This is definitely not how this day goes.

“Just in time as always, Desmond,” Lucy comments with hints of an actual smile. Clay stares too hard and too long at Vidic’s body to really understand the implications immediately. He's dead. After so _many_ wild fantasies and custom built scenarios about killing the old bastard, he's dead- just like that. It's what he deserves really, a long, drawn out, torturous death is too much wasted effort for someone like him.

He's shot several more times and Clay thinks it's out of anger but they're efficient; two more in the head, two more in the throat, and two more in the heart. Alright, Clay is slightly more satisfied now. He finally looks up as Desmond is pulling the empty clip from his gun and _holy shit that's Desmond?_

The Desmond Clay knows is, well, he's soft. His face, his body; when Desmond ran away from the Farm, he had stopped training himself and as such, had become nice and soft like a normal person. Clay never thought of his face as particularly _kind_ , but compared to this, his Desmond was fucking Santa Claus. Even under his hoodie, his all too specific ‘discreet combat’ outfit, this Desmond is very fit and his face seems to be printed neutral. He's like Clay's Desmond if his Desmond decided to get his life together, rejoin the assassins, never get a tattoo, and took just a little bit of steroids.

What the absolute _fuck_ is going on?

“Let's hope you got what you came for,” Desmond says and even his voice is different. It's _trained_ now, solid but intentionally easy. He snaps a new clip into his gun before reholstering it and changing it out for his phone which he promptly takes a couple photos of Vidic’s dead body with.

“If not, we should be able to pull it from this,” Lucy assures, plucking the hard drive from the animus. Clay is torn between staring at Desmond and staring at the hard drive. He's on there, the _real_ him. He's sure of it. Wherever he is, _whoever_ he is, he is not the Clay Kaczmarek that's supposed to be here, that much is clear. Why he is here, he might never know, but that hard drive will tell him exactly what happened to the Clay he's taken the place of.

“Good. Let's go,” Desmond instructs. He holds his hand out and Lucy promptly hands the drive over where it disappears into his bag safely. Well, physically safely. Clay nearly screams at the idea of his very soul jiggling around loosely in someone's bag.

“What-?” is all Clay manages out when, in fact, his brain had prepared a very elegant starting question and a lengthy series of follow up questions. Now he only draws a blank. Both Desmond and Lucy look at him questioningly but not harshly. Desmond gestures for him to come closer, away from the door of the room he was being kept in.

“Come on, Kaczmarek,” he says. “We have to go.” This is- It's not a _rescue_ , it's an extraction as if everything has gone exactly as planned. Considering Clay has no idea what's happened here up to this point, he doesn't know how much of that is true. What he does know is true are the deep, repetitive gouges on his arms and the significant blood loss he's going through and the sigils he's definitely left all over the room in his own blood. Is _that_ to plan? “Clay?”

“He's pretty shaken, Desmond,” Lucy informs. “He's been bleeding a lot lately. In more ways than one.” Desmond’s eyes drift to Clay's arms but his expression never changes. He looks back to Lucy before giving a nod and gesturing to Clay again.

“Are you with us, Kaczmarek?” he asks. “Can you carry yourself?” The words echo in his head, though; we have to go. Clay can just leave in his body, or one close enough to it, and Vidic can't stop him. He doesn't have to die. He doesn't have to _suffer_ here anymore. Desmond is- this Desmond is fine.

“Fuck yes,” Clay answers urgently and then he's briskly making his way across the room as quick as his wobbly legs will allow him to join them. Desmond smiles a little, breaking his distant mask of an expression just briefly. “Get me the fuck out of here.”

“Report,” Desmond says as he begins leading them out of the office. He walks like he knows exactly where he's going and that no one will be able to stop them. An entire team of assassins died trying to get Desmond out and yet, it looks like Desmond is on his own, like he doesn't _need_ anyone else. As far as Clay can tell, no alarms have been triggered yet and for the most part, the dead guards around are the ones that were at their posts not ones that have come running from somewhere else. How did he manage this?

“Clay doesn't have the genetic ladder to access the map like Vidic wanted so we're safe on that,” Lucy explains. “Abstergo probably has a solid idea of where the Apple is but Clay couldn't access the last of Ezio’s memories without desyncing- violently, I might add. Vidic kept trying to force him and I don't think it exactly went without consequences.” Clay snorts.

“I'm sure forcing me back in there to collect more data for ‘the assassins’ didn't exactly help, either,” he comments bitterly. She gives him a strange look and Desmond gives _her_ a strange look to which she urgently looks bemused back at him.

“I- Clay, you _wanted_ to keep going in,” Lucy says. “I didn't force you. Multiple times I tried to _stop_ you.” That's- interesting. Clay doesn't actually know if she's telling the truth, of course. He can't think of anything that would make him _willingly_ go back into that thing. Maybe in the beginning, sure, but then the Bleeding started happening and he became a volatile mess. Still, he has no idea what this version of him has been through.

“He's- I don't know,” Lucy admits. Clay scoffs a noise. “Like I said, he's pretty out of it.” Desmond doesn't say anything about it. “Uh, what we do know is what Abstergo is after. A Syrian assassin named Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad had direct contact with the Apple and they believe through him they can get a map of other POEs. Additionally, we collected a significant amount of data on their research of the animus and the POEs themselves.”

“Good,” Desmond says. He dispatches two guards before they even realise there's danger, brutally efficient and calm. ‘Cold’ applies negative connotations, Desmond does this like he folds laundry. “If we know what they're after we know how to cut them off. Kaczmarek?”

Clay looks at him curiously for a moment before realising he wants a report from him, too- or just anything to add, maybe? For a moment, he considers tacking on information that they wouldn't have access too yet but that seems like pressing his luck when he doesn't know what's going on. He also doesn't know if any of the information he knows even applies here. Pretending to be this Clay doesn't seem like a particularly good idea either, though.

“Lucy might be a Templar,” Clay comments. She jolts viciously.

“ _What_?” Lucy bites at him. The sheer confusion she holds for Clay showing any animosity towards her seems honest. Desmond doesn't react, though. He either knows this already or isn't taking Clay seriously. “Clay Kaczmarek-”

“I said might,” Clay assures. “I don't, like, actually know what your fucking problem was so as far as I know, you still might be a traitor which if it's all well and good with you, better safe than sorry.”

“Is this ‘Bleeding’ reversible?” Desmond asks. Lucy looks at Clay in disbelief, like she doesn't believe this is a Bleeding effect. She would be correct. Clay isn't sure if he's even going to Bleed anymore, his mind itself is far past that even if it was only recent this body suffered with it. More so, most of his brain is copied over from his construct in the animus and therefore likely isn't as susceptible to those kinds of issues, only new and worse issues.

“We don't know,” Lucy admits. “We- I don't know how bad it is for him and the other cases we know about didn't end well but they weren't prepared for it nor handled with the desire to reverse it. The last couple days, Clay has really been acting strange and I'm not sure how much of it’s Bleeding and how much is stress induced.” Couple days? She's not referring to his attitude now, then. If Clay were to guess, this other version of him likely fell into the mindset that this ‘extraction’ was never going to happen and he was going to die in this place not unlike this version of him.

The gouges on his wrist confirm this without a doubt. There's no reason he'd be so determined to leave messages if he thought for a second there was any way out of this. While the stress and psychological trauma had definitely clouded his vision before, it wasn't without reason and he's not so quick to assume this version of him was without reason, too.

“Where are we headed, by the way?” Clay asks as they exit, surprisingly, through the front doors. “Warren being dead isn't going to stop the Templars from coming after you.” Desmond was certainly not wrong in his silent assessment that no one could stop him. He opens the back of the van he clearly arrived here in and gestures Clay in. It's obvious now that he is very alone.

“Somewhere safe,” Desmond assures and he puts a surprisingly warm hand on Clay's back. While this seems fine for the Desmond he knows, this one doesn't seem particularly emotional. Clay climbs into the back and the doors are closed after him. Somewhere safe? They do technically know where the Apple is but he's not sure if that's ‘safe’ especially with Juno lingering. The Auditore villa may pose as a potential safe house from Abstergo but if they know anything about the memories Clay was in, it'll draw red flags like nobody’s business.

Lucy drives, much to Clay's dismay, and Desmond climbs into the passenger's seat. Everything about this situation is supremely odd. Desmond checks his gun briefly before switching the safety back on and tucking it away in his holster. He takes his phone in hand, tapping away swiftly and occasionally looking back at Clay. What happened to him that made him so different? Why does he know who Clay even is or where to find him? Did the assassins find him first in this version?

Clay peers out the back of the van curiously as they drive. Abstergo doesn't seem to be pursuing and likely for good reason. With Vidic Warren dead and their facility breached, they won't want to make a scene with a loud pursuit. Not to mention this Desmond is absolutely _deadly_. He walked into Abstergo face first, killed Warren, and walked out not only with two other assassins but valuable data. They're _afraid_ of him and they _should_ be.

What could have possibly changed that made Desmond so vicious?

Clay gives himself fucking whiplash the realisation hits him so suddenly.

“Desmond,” he says. Desmond looks back at him. “You- never ran away from the Farm, did you?” A very brief, very mute look of surprise passes his features but he hides it very well. He looks at Clay questioningly.

“What are you talking about, Kaczmarek?” he replies.

“You're- you're taking me back to the Farm, aren't you?” Clay asks. Vidic was a nightmare- he _gave_ Clay nightmares. That was much different from the kind of utter spite he feels for William fucking Miles and his fucking Farm. For the first time in his life he thought he meant something to someone and it only turned out that William wanted to use him for the Brotherhood’s pointless gain, sacrificing him to the animus testing for what? Half assed results he'd never get? To help guide his son down the path to his own destruction?

And the memories. _Desmond’s_ memories. Blurry like Desmond wanted so hard to forget them but still so prominent. William might not have been a drunk like his own father but he was a bastard of his very own. Maybe, long before he or this Clay went undercover for Abstergo, he looked up to William more than he would _ever_ know. Then he was abandoned for a pointless cause. Then he _died_ for a pointless cause. Then he watched, through Desmond’s own eyes, William scar his lip in a way that would always linger with him.

“Kaczmarek,” Desmond says as Clay bolts for the backdoor. He can't go back to the Farm, plain and simple. Not only does he not want to, but after being in the animus so longer, they will assume the worst, that he ended up like Daniel Cross somehow or worse; a sleeper agent they can never take their eye off of. This isn't Clay's reality, this isn't his punishment to take, and whatever Clay he replaced is likely long dead.

“Clay!” Lucy says more urgently as he opens the back doors. Clay tucks and rolls out the back and at once, he scrambles to his feet and bolts for it. The van comes to a sudden stop behind him, obviously, and he realises he hasn't thought this through. He doesn't have anywhere to go, Abstergo will certainly be on the hunt for him whenever they replace Warren, and so will the assassins. Clay is cornered on all sides.

“Kaczmarek!” Desmond calls after him. He doesn't run but he doesn't have to. Clay stops, laughing to himself as he stands in the middle of the road covered in dirt and honestly, a little delirious from the blood loss this body has taken. His only choice is to go back to the Farm right now. Beyond that, well, he could always just kill himself.

“Easy,” Desmond says gently, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Clay inhales deeply, placid and defeated. “It's me, Clay. You're okay. No one's going to hurt you.” They think he's Bleeding. Maybe he is but through what or who, he wouldn't know. Less than an hour ago he was nothing but dead code and now he's somehow found himself in a world where Desmond never left the Farm- where Desmond _saved_ him from Abstergo.

“Come on,” Desmond instructs, trying to ease him back to the van. “What can I do?”

“Nothing,” Clay assures. “Nothing at all.” Desmond frowns at him, carefully helping him climb back into the van before joining him this time, obviously not trusting Clay to not try to fling himself out the back again. If Clay suddenly thinks of a better way out of this, he absolutely will so this is a fair concern. Once they're both seated, they're off again. Desmond sits across from him now looking a little more solemn than before but his eyes are cast to Clay's bandaged wrists. Clay crosses his arms, covering himself.

“You really thought-” Desmond stops and breathes deep. He seems to remember that Clay is not in his right mind right now and likely hasn't been for a while. He's wrong but he thinks it anyways. Well, he's not _wrong_ but not in the way he thinks. To ask Clay if he really thought they were going to leave him there would be answered with an astounding ‘of course’. A Brotherhood without Desmond did.

Desmond reaches out to him and Clay watches his arm irritably, unhappy with the lack of tattoo there. He takes it wrong, withdrawing before any touch happens. Perhaps for the better. This Desmond, this _assassin_ Desmond, he isn't right. Not only because he's not _Clay’s_ Desmond but because this certainly isn't what Juno was leading him towards. This reality is likely as doomed as his own was.

In the end, Clay pities this Desmond more. Living his life fully in the Brotherhood, on the Farm, as a _prodigy_ \- it even sounds hellish. They made him into a monster to scare Abstergo with and honestly, Clay hates that it obviously worked.

Clay laughs, sitting back and doing his best to relax on the ride. Desmond offers him a grimace of a smile but otherwise, it's quiet. The Farm feels so far away, like Clay could make a break for it at any second and never come back. He knows Italian, he could pass around here. Hell, he could wait until they reached the US and then make his way out in a busy airport and hope for the best. He could-

He can't believe he's going back to the _fucking_ Farm.

“Kaczmarek,” Desmond finally asks. “Why do you think we're going to Black Hills?” Clay snorts, almost makes a comment about not being stupid, but he recalls that he doesn't actually know anything about this reality. Perhaps they moved base or maybe it finally fucking burned to the ground.

“Where _are_ we going?” Clay replies without answer.

“Right now, we need to lay low until Abstergo calls off and get you some help,” Desmond says but he doesn't outright say _where_. After all, Clay could be the next Daniel Cross, couldn't he?

“Right,” he scoffs back. “And after?”

“We'll head to the compound,” Desmond assures. “Check in with the Mentor and give him a thorough report.”

“Yeah, the Farm,” Clay says. “Good ol’ William. How's he doin’? Still an asshole?” Hesitation. Desmond isn't sure what to make of this and he looks at Lucy who offers only an unknowing shrug.

“The Farm burned down in 2008, Kaczmarek,” Desmond says. Oh, well, good. Clay has no arguments about that. He's not sure how to defend why he doesn't know that so he lets his silence speak for him. “Who _is_ our Mentor, Clay?”

“William Miles? Your shitty father?” Clay answers. Surely that hasn't changed, William was the one that recruited him and sent him on this poorly planned mission. “After- after Daniel Cross betrayed the Brotherhood.” He considers, for a brief moment, to keep his fucking mouth shut before he digs the hole he's in even deeper.

“Cross-?” Desmond repeats.

“Clay,” Lucy says from the driver's seat. “Desmond killed Daniel Cross nearly two years ago.” That- huh. Clay knows what to say to this even less. If William isn't the Mentor that means they still have their old one, a man Clay only ever knew as ‘The Mentor’, which means- the assassins were never scattered and forced into even deeper hiding? If that really is the case, there's a decent chance the Brotherhood is actually holding their own in this war _somehow_.

No, not ‘somehow’. Because of Desmond.

“Does the Bleeding effect usually take _away_ memories?” Desmond asks.

“We wouldn't know,” Lucy answers. She keeps saying ‘we’ and Clay gets the feeling more and more it's not a ‘royal’ we but a ‘Lucy and Clay’ we. That itself is weird to think about. “Anything is possible, I guess?”

“Even imagining things that never happened?” Desmond inquires but it's sharper now, that keen, cold assassin sense coming to the realisation that Clay is _wrong_. He doesn't belong here, he shouldn't _be_ here. Clay can't help the nervous but hysterical sounding laugh he makes into his hand. This is great, this is going great. Now they're going to think he has thoughts implanted in him which also isn't wrong, they're just a different Clay's thoughts, not Templar ones.

Lucy doesn't say anything.

It's silent again and Clay legitimately considers his options now. He can't make a run for it, he'd never get away. Telling the truth is an option but what the fuck is that anymore? There's no way they'll believe him if he says he's definitely still Clay just with the mind from an alternate reality where he uploaded himself to a fucking animus. Desmond is focused on him. He killed Daniel Cross. He'll kill Clay, too.

Not the worst way to die.

The van stops and Clay can't get out into the fresh air fast enough. He'd missed it the first time, had forgotten how long it's really been since he's breathed anything not stuffy or artificial. Artificial wind, artificial weather, artificial clean. Desmond gets out after him, remaining close by incase he decides to try to run again. Clay's really going to take this in, though. Once he follows them inside, he doesn't know the next time they'll let him out. He's officially made himself suspicious and that doesn't bode well for anyone.

“Kaczmarek,” Desmond says and Clay honestly, truly wants to ask why he keeps calling him by his last name but he thinks he should know that so he doesn't. “Inside. We can't linger out here right now.” ‘Right now’. Clay scoffs sarcastically. Lucy leads them into the mostly inconspicuous building and they make their way down a hall, around a corner, and into a normal looking room. Once the door is closed, of course, they make their way into the actual hiding spot down a ladder hidden in the closet.

The hallway it leads to is dark and kind of damp like it's intentionally supposed to feel creepy and unnerving. That's about the summary of the Brotherhood he knows, yeah. Clay makes it only a few steps behind Lucy before Desmond grabs him and shoves him painfully into the wall. His solid forearm pins Clay down with ease, not that it takes much in the state that he's in right now, and Clay looks at him questioningly. His threshold for being startled is much higher now and this is to be expected. Desmond searches him while Lucy stands by, awaiting to offer assistance.

“Who are you?” Desmond demands. This is an interesting way to phrase this question. Not ‘what did they do to you’ or ‘what's wrong with you’. _Who_. Clay can't believe he's failed at pretending to be _himself_. Or maybe he can now that he thinks about it. Yeah, not that surprising.

“Clay Kaczmarek,” Clay assures. “Just, uh, not the one you're expecting.”

“I _know_ Clay Kaczmarek,” Desmond tells him shortly. “You're not him.”

“Do you?” Clay replies skeptically, trying to push Desmond’s firm arm off of him fruitlessly.

“I think I know my own boyfriend,” Desmond snaps. Holy shit what? This Clay got to date this Desmond? What sort of extra shitty life was he living? That is all kinds of fucking bullshit right there. This Clay got to date Desmond and he got to kill himself twice. That does put a lot of things into perspective about this Clay, though. “Who. Are. You.”

“Like I said,” Clay repeats. “Not who you're expecting but I am still Clay. Could you let me go now, I'm like honestly suffering severe blood loss and will die much quicker than you expect if you fuck with my blood circulation.” Desmond loosens his grip just barely.

“What does that mean?” he demands. Clay shrugs.

“To be honest with you, I have no idea what happened. My last memory was sacrificing myself to save your dumbass from getting deleted by the animus and subsequently becoming brain dead,” he says. “I'm sure that makes a lot of sense to you.”

“Start _making_ sense,” Desmond warns. This Desmond is a lot more aggressive, that's for sure. The arm that presses against him does actually hurt and Clay pushes at him more firmly, trying to at least get him to loosen. This only aggravates him, though, and Desmond practically slams him into the concrete wall again.

“ _Shit_ , okay,” Clay hisses out. “I fucking get it, you never escaped your abuser and now you think you can get everything you want with force and fear.” Desmond’s lip twitches like he's going to snarl but can't quite pull it off. “Really Desmond, you don't have to be rough with me. I'm not intentionally being difficult.” Whatever his reason may be, perhaps he does realise Clay isn't in any position to do anything to anyone right now, Desmond lets him go. Clay straightens himself out.

“Where's the _real_ Clay Kaczmarek?” Desmond asks and it's no secret there's distaste for him in it. Clay can understand why, he guesses. Again, this isn't a question he fully knows the answer to. His guess is the other Clay is dead or at the very least, banished into non-existence. Telling Desmond either of those things right now seems less than ideal but he doesn't have a lot of choices right now.

“The hard drive,” Clay urges. “Your Clay probably left a lot more on it than you realise.” If he was leaving blood messages, he had to have been digging his hands into the animus, too. Desmond’s face is intentionally unreadable. “And don't look at Lucy. She doesn't know shit about the animus and would have no idea if I- he?- tampered with it or not. Still not convinced you're not a traitor by the way.”

“I'm not a Templar, Clay,” Lucy replies firmly. Clay shrugs.

“Rebecca will know,” Desmond says.

“Look, between you and me, it's possible the Apple has something to do with this or a different piece of Eden maybe or hell, Juno sure fucked me over once already. The First Civilization, you don't know about them yet but they made the pieces of Eden, had some fucking _shit_ and I don't think even they had full comprehension of all of it,” Clay rambles on. The hidden blade that suddenly appears beside his neck makes him pause for a second. “We _just_ talked about the force thing, Desmond.”

“You're here and you're not our Clay Kaczmarek,” Desmond says firmly but he doesn't move his blade. “ _Fine_. That's not something we're going to understand right now. How do we know you're _a_ Clay Kaczmarek.”

“Uh, does it matter?” Clay replies. “I don't- you have some weird issues with this, okay. I was focused on trying to make you understand I'm like from a _completely_ different reality but okay. Just ask me some things? From before I became an assassin, obviously, that seems to have differed dramatically for us. You did say you knew me- him.” The initial silence is understandable but when it drags on longer, Clay realises he has no proof that the only difference in his reality and this one is Desmond staying at the Farm. Maybe his dad isn't an alcoholic this time. Maybe this Clay was otherwise a totally functional, not sick in the head dude. Honestly, even if those things turn out to be the same, Clay thinks he'd kill to be this Clay.

Then again, he might have. Inadvertently of course.

“You're really thinking this hard about it?” Clay comments. “Look, if you didn't actually know him that well, it's fine. I expected nothing less.” Desmond doesn't say anything, searching, _reading_ rather, his face without waver. “I was an engineer student? I, uh, shit in retrospect my life fucking sucked why would I have told you anything about it?”

“It doesn't matter,” Desmond finally says, withdrawing his blade from Clay’s throat. The sudden abandon of topic is peculiar but Clay isn't sure he caused it. “The Apple, where is it?”

“Oh, right, yeah,” Clay replies. “Good point. Totally still possible she's so deep undercover she _actually_ thinks she's with Abstergo.” He points at Lucy again, still an ever present thorn in his general area. She is more than a little annoyed with him, obviously, but he's not taking that chance. “I know, 'I'm not a Templar’, ‘we can leave soon Clay, I promise’, ‘I'm sorry but we need information’, I've heard it already. Look, I know where the Apple is and bonus points, I know how to get it. Let's leave it at that for now.”

“Be ready to take us there,” Desmond says. “After we get whatever Kaczmarek left on this hard drive for us.”

“Fair warning, I have no idea what will happen if you try to take the Apple,” Clay assures. “It could be as easy as picking up a shiny rock or, uh, you know, Juno could compel you to kill all of your friends and then yourself. This whole reality is kind of fucked.” Again, Desmond just looks at him. Maybe they turned him into a human lie detector too, looking for minute changes in Clay's face and mannerisms to pick out untruths. At this point, he'd believe it.

“Walk,” Desmond instructs. This Desmond is so mean. Clay brushes himself out again before begrudgingly following Lucy further into the hideout. It's a good hideout all things considering.

“Desmond, you're back!” Rebecca calls. “Everything went off without a hitch. Abstergo is still reeling at Warren’s death and you're just a blip on their radar.”

“As to be expected, of course,” Shaun says. “Anything happens in Abstergo and they blame the ‘boogie man’. I mean, usually they're right but still. There's high alerts out on Lucy but it seems they've marked Clay down as deceased.”

“Maybe they expect him to perish from the Bleeding effect,” Lucy suggests.

“More likely they don't know super well who he is,” Rebecca says. “Abstergo doesn't keep subject’s names or anything else on file for their animus testing. It doesn't look like they ever realised he was an assassin.” Lucy gives Clay a pointed look but this doesn't prove much. He looks around the base curiously, more cozy than he had expected. It looks like they've been living here for a while and they've certainly done what they could to make themselves at home. He eyes the animus just laying about suspiciously.

“They recovered this from Abstergo,” Desmond informs, taking the hard drive from his bag.

“Oh shit, that's great!” Rebecca beams immediately. “Good job, guys. With this, we should be able to make things go a lot faster.” Desmond doesn't hand it over immediately, however, and she looks at him questioningly.

“That's not all,” he assures. “Clay Kaczmarek has been compromised.” Rebecca and Shaun both look at Clay not with alarm but obviously surprise like they didn't think that was a thing that could happen. “Supposedly, the last sort of coherent message he left is on this hard drive. I want you to disconnect from the network before trying anything with it. This could be a lot nastier than we're expecting.”

“No kidding,” Rebecca murmurs, finally taking it and having a surface glance. “If Clay is responsible for it-” she trails off as she looks back up at Clay, almost seeming regretful. What was this Clay up to? “I'll set up an isolation space and start working on this immediately.”

“Thanks. Shaun, Stillman may be compromised, too,” Desmond says.

“Desmond,” Lucy bites, honestly sounding hurt. If she's faking this, she's real good at it. Of course, she had fooled the assassins last time so he's not that surprised.

“Before today we have only ever communicated by email, Stillman,” Desmond says mildly. “I've never met you face to face in my life and considering what Abstergo is capable of, we have no way of knowing what they've done to you in that time. You and Kaczmarek were both going to be under scrutiny one way or another.” To this she seems more understanding. Clay had found out she was a Templar the first time around but what made her change and why was never really important; all he got was half truths and bullshit. He's willing to admit that Desmond being here prevented that from happening but he's going to need some solid fucking proof first.

“Shaun,” Desmond repeats. “I want full analysis of Stillman and Kaczmarek. Nothing invasive, just make sure they're who, and what, they claim to be. I have a feeling we'll know the hard way soon enough, anyways.”

“Surely thing, Des,” Shaun agrees. Clay doesn't miss the look he gets, that's for sure. They're likely wondering why he's so calm if he's Bleeding so severely and furthermore, why Desmond thinks his final thoughts are on a hard drive. There's not exactly a lot about this that's easy to explain. The look he gives Desmond, sort of pity and sort of regretful, isn't missed, either.

“Patch me through to William,” Desmond says, motioning to Clay with a firm two fingers then directing him into a room with an open door. He's so professional and stiff, it's really strange to think this and his Desmond are the same person. Clay heads for the room and Desmond is right behind him.

“Patching,” Rebecca confirms and Desmond closes the door. It seems to be an office of temporary means, a hastily setup desk and computer with disposable, easily forgotten nicknacks to make it homier in case they have to leave without warning. Ah the assassin life, never get too attached to anything. Desmond sits and Clay stands, staring into a curious little glass statue- an Italian souvenir, cheaply made but heavy, and engraved with something in Italian for tourist to eat up. The life of an assassin, Clay thinks again, if something can have more than one use, it should.

While they wait for a response from William, Clay thinks. He has a lot to put into perspective about this Clay now and trying to backtrack through his thought process is messy at best. So he was recruited by William, it had to still be William, and trained by him to be an assassin. Desmond surely would have already been past his training by then, perhaps hardly even around. Something happened though, between beginning his training and being implemented to infiltrate the animus research; this Clay started dating Desmond somehow.

Desmond’s reaction towards him make a lot of sense now. He is very professional but he likes Clay- or did before he realised he was the wrong Clay. _You can't even be the right yourself._ This discovery turned him much colder. If they were close, he must be absolutely heartbroken. The thought upsets Clay more than he thought it would. He ruined a good thing for a different version of himself, great. That's fucking great.

This isn't about Desmond, though. Lucy insisting that he went back into the animus willingly makes more sense now. If this whole thing actually went to plan like it was supposed to, if this Clay knew Desmond was out there waiting for him to accomplish something great, he can only imagine how _desperate_ he would have been to make sure he was successful. He can just imagine, knowing the risks and already Bleeding heavily, making Lucy put him back in so he can find something, _anything_ as quick as possible.

Clay laughs. He can imagine knowing how mad Desmond would be if he found out Clay was doing something stupid but doing it anyways because it would be worth it in the end. But time drags on. This Clay doesn't find what they're looking for, _can't_ because he can't sync with Ezio like Desmond can, and he Bleeds worse and worse. He finds what they're looking for more when he's out of the animus than in it. Then he wants to leave. He's losing his mind and he wants to see Desmond again, doesn't want to be here.

Lucy keeps telling him soon, just a little longer, soon Clay. Soon doesn't happen soon enough, his addled brain and ingrained paranoia and psychosis lead him to distrusting everyone and everything until he truly thinks he's been abandoned here; by the assassins, by William, by Desmond. He starts to realise they used him, _are_ using him, and they never planned to get him out. He realises he's going to die here and from there, the story is the same. Blood, so much blood, and the crave for a death by his own hand just out of spite.

Clay itches at his bandages.

“We'll get you sewn up in a minute,” Desmond says and Clay looks at him. Waiting, waiting in Abstergo while he's being tortured for the man he loves to come save him. Giving _up_ on that man to save him and succumbing to a quiet death. That's how this Clay died. As alone as Clay had. “And some food. You look pale as shit, Kaczmarek.”

“Thanks, I'm dying,” Clay answers.

“Desmond,” William’s voice makes Clay cringe instinctively. That he doesn't like. Now he knows why Desmond sounds so _off_ , he's clearly inherited his tone from William. That's great, Clay could have gone without coming to that realisation. “Are we secure?” Clay turns to look wearily at William’s face projected on the concrete wall, unsure of if the man can see him from the other side of the laptop.

“No,” Desmond replies. “Clay Kaczmarek is comprised. Possibly Lucy Stillman, too.” William firms his face even more than usual.

“We expected this,” he finally answers. “But you got them out, that's step one.”

“Extraction went off without a hitch,” Desmond assures. “Kaczmarek is-” he looks over his screen at Clay and Clay looks back. How is he going to explain this to his dad? Hey, my boyfriend isn't my boyfriend anymore. “Not himself.”

“Not himself? Explain,” William instructs.

“I don't know yet. It's possible they did the same thing to him as they did to Cross. He still thinks he's himself but his memory is incomplete and falsified. He’s under the impression the Farm is up and running and that you took over as mentor after Cross killed The Mentor,” Desmond explains. William mulls this over thoughtfully. All and all, these are obviously very strange things for Abstergo to have implanted in Clay and they both are very aware of it.

“Is this a situation you can deal with, Desmond?” William asks. Boyfriend. They were boyfriends and William knew.

“Yes,” Desmond answers flatly.

“Desmond,” William says. “Son-”

“He's not Kaczmarek anymore,” Desmond replies. “We're unloading the data they got from Abstergo right now, off grid as planned. We should have a more concrete idea of what's happening once we decrypt it.”

“Very well,” William agrees. “Good job, Desmond.”

“There's something else,” Desmond says. “This Kaczmarek says he knows where the Apple of Eden is and how to get to it. We have no way of confirming or denying this.”

“I trust you have a plan,” William says. Clay mocks him silently and by the raised brow William makes, he can, in fact, see Clay. Good. Now they can not like each other.

“The sooner we go, the better,” Desmond answers. “If he's telling the truth, we get the Apple. If not, we solve this problem before it gets any worse. If it's a trap, Abstergo will be extremely prepared to deal with me and likely any other assassins sent. I'll go on my own-”

“Like hell you will,” Clay interrupts. “I'm going with you or we're not going at all.”

“I'll go with _Kaczmarek_. If there's any sign of trouble, I'll take care of him and make my escape,” Desmond continues. ‘Take care of him’. Clay already knows Desmond has no qualms with killing him. They don't even know what happened to his Clay or if there's a way to bring him back but he will cut this Clay's throat in a heartbeat for just not being him. A part of Clay loathes that, once again, he's just not good enough for _anything_. The other part of him realises that this Clay was, though, and if that isn't even more bittersweet.

“Understood,” William replies. “We'll talk again when you're secure.”

“Got it,” Desmond agrees. The connection is cut and Clay is left irritably staring at the wall where William used to be. All Clay can think about is how much he’s fucked up this Clay’s life by being here. Somewhere someone like him was happy? Of course it couldn’t stay that way.

“Let’s clean your wounds,” Desmond murmurs, touching Clay’s elbow faintly to guide him back out of the room. The sight of Shaun tending to Lucy in the animus is alarming to say the least and he stares, perplexed, as Desmond gestures him to sit on the couch. Rebecca is already deep in her code surfing and that might take a while. Clay knows what he’s looking for much better but he doubts Desmond will let him anywhere near that hard drive.

“What are you doing to her?” he asks instead, nodding his head at Lucy while Desmond gets their medical equipment. Shaun seems confused by the question, looking to what he’s doing, then to Lucy, then back to Clay curiously.

“I-” he says. “Don’t understand the question?”

“Are you fucking stupid?” Clay responds to which he gets a sour look in reply. “Why is she in the animus? What are you fucking doing to her?”

“Yeah, no, I got that,” Shaun assures shortly. “This is- This is your work, Clay. If I’m doing something wrong, you can just-”

“Shaun,” Desmond says, cutting him short. “For all intents and purposes, this isn’t Kaczmarek. Don’t treat him like it.” That feels great, thanks Desmond. Shaun and Rebecca exchange unsure looks.

“Uh, right,” Shaun says slowly. “Well, uh, I’m making sure all of her memories are _her_ memories. You, or uh, Clay was the only reason we caught Cross before he could do anything. After that, you- _Clay_ \- and Rebecca developed the technology to, well, basically tell if someone had implanted memories.” Clay looks at Rebecca wearily and she offers him a rather awkward smile. He worked with her a little, sure, but they never ‘developed’ anything together and at most, exchanged a handful of ideas. Apparently he left such a vivid impression on her, she forgot who he fucking was.

“It’s actually pretty cool,” Rebecca assures. “We found out that implanted memories give off a different signal in the brain. We don’t even have to _see_ the thoughts, so it’s not as invasive as it was when we started. The animus can-”

“Nor is he one of us,” Desmond says firmly. “Until we’re more sure about what’s going on and- what happened to him, tell him as much as you would a new recruit.” Clay can’t help but snort sourly at the idea of being a recruit again. Rebecca sheepishly goes back to her own business.

“You can tell if Abstergo planted memories in someone, then?” Clay asks.

“Yeah, yeah we can,” Shaun agrees.

“Is that something they do often?” he asks. Desmond sits beside Clay on the couch, unpacking the stuff he’s brought over onto a little rolling cart and Clay tries not to look at it. He still remembers the men at Abstergo trying to patch him up and it was unpleasant. The way Desmond is acting, he’s not sure this is going to be pleasant, either.

“No?” Shaun murmurs like it’s more of a question. “Cross is really the only one we’ve seen so far. The animus is- that’s not its main function. Test subjects usually die before they get out.” Clay isn’t sure what to make of this. Either they aren’t aware that Abstergo is already mass producing these things and, likewise, using them to mass produce soldiers, sleeper or otherwise, or that just isn’t happening here. Or he’s being lied to. That’s an option.

“How do you know it works, then?” Clay points out.

“It works,” Desmond assures. He begins unwrapping Clay’s bandages and the feel of the cool air hitting his still very fresh wounds makes Clay cringe. Even the short ride over here, mostly uneventful, has caused them to reopen and seep through the bandages. Then again, he did jump out of a moving van so that might have something to do with it.

“It sounds like you don’t know if it works,” Clay says.

“You-” Desmond stops, breathes. “Kaczmarek pioneered it. _It works_.” The idea that Desmond, that all of them really, trust this Clay’s work so wholeheartedly that they need only know he was the one that did it to assure them it functions as it should is- shocking, really. They’re putting their trust, their faith in something without knowing fully if it even works. More importantly, this Clay obviously got to work a lot more with the assassins than he had ever had the chance to. He was just a token piece, a useful ancestry point, and only in retrospect did Clay realise that’s all William ever treated him as.

“Everything looks good,” Shaun assures, nodding as Lucy blinks her eyes open. “Nothing that raises any red flags. You shouldn’t have been in the animus anyways, right?”

“Once or twice,” Lucy admits, rubbing her eyes as she readjusts to the light. “Vidic wanted me to see what it was like and if I had anything relevant to their interests in my line. I wouldn’t think it would be enough to implant thoughts.”

“Just because she doesn’t have implanted thoughts doesn’t mean she’s not a Templar,” Clay comments. Again, Lucy glowers at him.

“Why do you want me to be a Templar so bad, Kaczmarek?” she finally demands. Clay shrugs, a mute gesture that makes Desmond’s hold on him tighten briefly to hold him still while he examines the wounds.

“Aside from the fact that last time I went through this you were a leading cause to my suicide, no particular reason,” he assures.

“Last time-?” Shaun echoes.

“Conversation over,” Desmond says flatly. “The Mentor is going to want a full report on what you learned while you were in Abstergo. Take your time, we won’t be going anywhere for awhile and you should re-adjust.” Lucy doesn’t say anything, looking at Clay mildly but with less hostility now. Like the rest of them, she seems more confused than anything though Clay pressing the matter is aggravating her obviously.

“Well when Desmond is done there, you can hop in and we’ll see _if_ they implanted any thoughts in you,” Shaun assures. Clay laughs.

“Absolutely not,” he replies. “I’m not going in there. I’d rather you kill me than ever use an animus ever again. Not fucking happening.”

“Baby won’t hurt you, Clay,” Rebecca says, peering around her work space minutely to give him what is probably supposed to be a reassuring look.

“Uh, I’ve been in ‘Baby’, all it wants _to do_ is hurt me,” Clay promises sarcastically. “I’m not fucking going in there.” Her look turns more perplexed.

“How have you been in Baby before?” Rebecca asks. “We didn’t have access to the animus plans until after you infiltrated Abstergo. I didn’t build her until you were gone, Clay.” That- honestly, Clay really doesn’t want to get down to the nitty gritty of having to explain that he’s apparently from a completely different reality where things went much differently. Mostly because it still sounds like absolute fucking bullshit even to himself.

“Regardless,” he says instead. “No way in fucking hell.”

“Whatever,” Desmond says tensely, becoming more than a little irritated with this discussion or perhaps just with Clay himself. “Right now that’s fine. We’ll deal with this after the hard drive.” They won’t deal with it at all because Clay isn’t fucking going in that fucking thing. He looks down at his shredded wrist as Desmond begins, surprisingly carefully, applying a numbing gel to the area. He looks away again.

This is wrong.

The thought occurs to him strangely and with little warning. This isn’t how this happened. Well, yeah, no shit dumbass. This- Clay has to focus and hard at that to try to grip to the memory that tries so urgently to pull away from him. He planned his suicide for weeks, sure, but he didn’t draw it out, that’s for sure. In fact, he was pretty insistent on assuring it happened all at once, that he could slit his wrist and leave his glyphs all on the same night without having to deal with the consequences from Vidic.

With a pen, no less, not glass.

Why does he remember otherwise?

Clay muses on it as much as his brain will allow him to, an overlapping of memories causing a strange, unpleasant feeling to overtake his very human existence. He tries to ignore it the best he can. Are these memories from the Clay of this reality?

“Kaczmarek,” Desmond says, low and steady. “Stay with us.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” Clay assures fleetingly. He makes the mistake of briefly looking down while Desmond is sewing up his wrist and immediately gives himself vertigo. Fortunately he can’t actually feel it but it looks _horrible_. The alternative is being asleep for it, though, and that’s not happening, either. “Hey, so, why’d you leave me there so long, anyways? You know I was, like, a couple hours away from literally killing myself, right?” To his benefit, Desmond doesn’t jolt at all, hands still firmly focused and working on his task.

“Shut up,” he answers.

“Didn’t find enough information for you yet? You know he had given up on you ever coming for him, right? He wouldn’t have done this if he thought you were actually going to save him,” Clay continues, unbothered. “He was going to die thinking-”

“I told you to shut up,” Desmond snaps.

“Yeah, and I want a fucking answer,” Clay replies. Desmond exhales deeply, a tenseness to him that never really ever goes away.

“We’ve been trying to get him out of there for weeks, okay?” he finally says. “When Stillman said his Bleeding was starting to get worse, we were already working on an extraction plan. You have _no_ idea how much I wanted to come and get him the / _econd_ he started- this. The only thing that would have accomplished was getting us both killed.” Clay looks at him but Desmond is focused solely on his stitching.

“There wasn’t a day he was in there that you weren’t worried about him, was there?” he asks.

“No,” Desmond answers. “There wasn’t.” Clay is quiet for a while, the whole room is. Everyone focuses on their own tasks in awkward silence. Unfortunately, Clay has no real way of knowing what the other version of himself felt for Desmond, if it was honest love or the weird obsession much more common to him. He had a tendency of growing far too attached to anyone who showed him even the slightest bit of affection to which they were inevitable weirded out by and ended in harsh refusal. Needless to say, Clay learned his lesson about that pretty fast.

Desmond, though? Desmond seems to have loved a Clay not him. The idea is honestly kind of hard to believe in any fashion. Someone like Desmond, either version of him, ever liking someone like him? Even the Desmond he interacted with seemed to only deal with him, not really like or dislike him in any way. Fairly, that Desmond was dealing with some shit.

In retrospect, Clay isn’t even sure how he feels about Desmond.

“I’m really not trying to be difficult,” Clay murmurs quietly. “Fuck, I- Not even a couple hours ago I sacrificed myself to make sure you had the knowledge you needed to, I don’t know, finish doing whatever it was you were doing. Then I wake up here on the verge of killing myself again in that fucking _hell_ facility. So excuse me if I’m a little fucking- hard to deal with right now.”

“Half the shit out of your mouth is nonsense, Kaczmarek,” Desmond murmurs back. “But I understand that whatever you did or whyever you’re here, you probably didn’t mean it. That doesn’t bring the actual Clay Kaczmarek back.”

“It- no, it doesn’t,” Clay murmurs. “If the Apple is responsible for this then it might be able to put things back the way they were, too. If it was Juno-” He pauses. “ _Juno_. Oh you nasty fucking bitch. You fucking did this, didn’t you?”

“Juno?” Desmond repeats. He wraps Clay’s arm back up carefully.

“Why? _Why_? You already yanked me along through two deaths, why do this? No, no, not Juno. She had everything she wanted, didn’t she? She wouldn’t have done this. The other one, _shit_ , what was the other one’s name? Trying to _one_ up Juno, aren’t you?” Clay laughs bitterly. “Again. We’re doing this again, are we? You’re going to try to use me _again_ to fucking make your ends meet?”

“Kaczmarek,” Desmond says firmly. “ _Stay_ with us.” Clay looks at him, then back again, once more losing his thought process quite suddenly thanks to Desmond. The others are watching him and his sudden outburst cautiously. He is not totally unaware that some of his thoughts, his own _memories_ , are not _accessible_ to him.

“The- the hard drive,” Clay murmurs, lowering his voice again. “That, uh, that’ll bring back your Clay if he did what I did.” Desmond doesn’t look convinced, which fairly it sounds like nonsense yeah, but he doesn’t comment on it. He starts working on Clay’s other arm.

Juno. Clay’s brain flickers away from the thought violently when he tries too hard to think about it. This version of him never made contact with Juno did he? _Why_? Why can’t he remember _his_ contact with Juno? That’s what the sigils were about, that’s what helping _Desmond_ was about.

“ _Kaczmarek_ ,” Desmond barks, grabbing his face suddenly and making Clay look at him. Clay blinks, bemused, but Desmond runs his thumb under his nose and blood comes away. When he reaches up to see for himself, there’s more of it flooding from his nose and he hurriedly pinches it to stop anymore from coming out.

“Great,” he huffs to himself. “I can’t access my own fucking memories because they’re coded to be machine read and not exactly compatible with a human brain. That’s healthy. That’s great.”

“Whatever you were thinking about, stop,” Desmond instructs. “You don’t exactly have the blood to spare.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t remember what it was anyways,” Clay murmurs. He’s going to have to get in the fucking animus again. Why couldn’t he just die in fucking peace? Desmond moves his hand away, checking his nose before offering him a tissue to mop up the blood.

“I’ve definitely found something that looks like Clay’s handiwork,” Rebecca alerts. “I think? It’s beyond encrypted and even then, it could just be a system hiccup.”

“Let me see,” Clay says, getting to his feet. Desmond grabs his arm roughly, yanking him back down.

“When I’m done,” he says firmly, gesturing to Clay’s other arm. Clay scoffs a noise but doesn’t argue. “Find anything else?”

“Not really. It’ll be easier to sort through once I get it hooked up to the animus. Everything looks pretty normal at face value, nothing malicious or anything,” she assures. Clay briefly entertains the idea that perhaps he was the one that turned out to be a traitor this time. That doesn’t seem very likely but it is an idea he entertains nonetheless.

“I just realised something,” Clay says, rolling his head to the side. “Unless your Clay used the same encryption as I did, it won’t exactly be easy to open whatever he’s left behind. I hid the decryption keys deep inside Ezio Auditore’s memory files which, even itself, I hid behind another wall of code to prevent the animus from recognising it as a threat.”

“Really?” Rebecca replies, thoroughly impressed. “That sounds like a pretty Clay thing to do, I’ll be honest.”

“The only way to decrypt it would be for Desmond to go through Ezio’s memories and find the keys,” Clay murmurs. “Either that or I spend a very long time trying to do it by hand.”

“Well you can start working on that as soon as I’m done here,” Desmond assures. Clay arches his brow questioningly. “I don’t go in the animus, Kaczmarek. Not for that.”

“I mean, yeah,” Clay answers. “That makes sense. You’re prone to Bleeding even worse than I was. They wouldn’t want to risk their master assassin going fucking insane, now would they?” He flexes his fingers. He could go in. He’d know where to start looking for the keys and he already knows his way around Ezio’s memories well enough. This is, obviously, the worst idea. He never was able to sync with Ezio properly and with the way he is now, there’s no way of telling what would happen to him or the animus or the hard drive if it started digging through his mind.

“I guess it’s going to be a while until we find out what your Clay was thinking,” Clay murmurs. He should probably mention that they are working on a very limited time frame here what with the end of the world on its way but honestly, he isn’t going to be the one that pushes Desmond into using the animus. He’s not going to allow himself to be responsible for him beginning to Bleed.

“We have time,” Desmond says. Clay watches him sew up his other arm.

“Do you have any regrets?” Clay asks. Desmond looks at him, brief and fleeting but as level headed as this Desmond tends to pretend to be. He doesn’t say anything. “Not getting away when you had the chance?” He laughs. Desmond doesn’t. “You can’t win, you know. My you, my reality’s you, he, uh, he regretted _running_ away.” Desmond tightens a string. “We all regret things in retrospect we shouldn’t, I guess. We all _waste_ things.”

“There,” Desmond says, tying off the bandage of his other arm. “Don't touch them.”

“Easier said than done,” Clay murmurs, holding his wrists side by side and looking the clean bandages over. He will admit, that feels a lot better. His arms feel weird from the numbing gel but actually being patched up and nicely at that isn't exactly going to net a complaint from him. At least now it's more likely his blood will stay in him. He gets up and this time, Desmond allows him.

Clay watches as Desmond packs up any unused equipment while setting aside the rest to clean or dispose of. Knowing what he does about the other Desmond and that one's ancestry line, this one being groomed into a brutally efficient master assassin isn't far fetched or even surprising. What is surprising are the such obvious hints of the ‘real’ Desmond in him, though, little things that survive such a dramatic difference in upbringing.

Rebecca gives him a mute smile as he comes to look over her shoulder. It's been a while since he's seen actual raw code like this not from inside the animus. In the animus he was a construct, he inherently understood and could process stuff like this without an issue. Now his brain reels at the sheer amount of information it tries to take in. Clay tries to focus though, force himself to look at small sections at a time instead of consuming it all at once.

“Well?” Rebecca asks after a moment.

“Yeah,” Clay replies. “I have no idea what this means.”

“Oh, good,” Shaun says. “That's a good start.”

“It makes sense a different version of me wouldn't use the same encryption. It's completely arbitrary and your Clay had a lot more practice with this than I got,” Clay says but he's honestly speaking more to himself than anyone else.

“So the only way to crack it is to delve into Ezio’s memories?” Desmond asks.

“Huh? No, I didn't say I couldn't do it,” Clay murmurs. “I won't be able to give you a time frame, though. It wasn't meant to be decrypted this way so it would be easier to use the key, obviously.”

“Clay’s right, we can't risk Desmond Bleeding,” Lucy assures. “And if Clay goes back in there, it'll just make him worse. I don't know how much more of it he can take.”

“I didn't say it was a _good_ idea, either,” Clay says mildly. “Just give me some space.” Rebecca looks to Desmond for confirmation. It's hard to tell what he's thinking, intentionally of course, so Clay doesn't try too hard.

“How long will it take you to make a backup?” Desmond asks.

“Couple hours,” Rebecca replies. More time they just really don't have. This compound seems fairly sturdy, though. Could it survive a solar flare? Honestly, the more Clay thinks about it the less he's interested in saving the world and the more he's focused on saving Desmond. The world can suck it.

“I'm not going to damage it,” Clay comments fleetingly. “I'm decrypting it, not tearing it apart.”

“Information about Abstergo _and_ Kaczmarek is on there,” Desmond says. “I'm not taking any risks.” Clay makes a noncommittal noise. It's even harder to tell if Desmond is more interested in his dumb Creed or his dumber boyfriend.

“I'll start working on it,” Rebecca murmurs awkwardly. She seems to feel bad not including Clay in what she's doing which, if she and this Clay have worked together so much, is a little touching he guesses. He also knows she's perfectly competent on her own, though.

“I'll, uh, make that food run, then,” Shaun alerts. “Since we have some time, anyways.”


	2. Copy, Paste

Everyone strays off to work on something of their own interest and Clay lingers around Rebecca’s set up. There's not exactly a lot to do while copying data so it's not like he's bothering her. He keeps looking over her shoulder as she skims code, stopping to note anything particularly interesting looking but otherwise not seeming to look for anything important. When he doesn't start any conversation with her, she takes it upon herself to do it.

“You, uh, really don't remember working on this, do you?” Rebecca asks. He can't remember something he didn't do.

“No, I enjoy spending weeks trying to solve my own stupid puzzles,” Clay answers. She snorts a laugh.

“You're definitely still Clay,” she assures. At least he knows this Clay hasn't been ruining his reputation by being nice or something. “Desmond really was worried about you or, uh, not you? I have no idea what's going on with that.”

“Uh huh,” Clay replies mildly. He doesn't relish having to try to explain something he doesn't fully understand himself, either. She taps on her desk idly for a moment, more than aware that Clay isn't that interested in talking to her. He's not her Clay and vise versa, the Rebecca he worked with didn't even remember his fucking name.

“You and I, sorry, Clay and I engineered a lot of technology together for the Brotherhood, you know,” she murmurs. “We're, uh, we're good friends. We've been for a long time even if you are an ass. You really don't-”

“No offense, but we're not friends,” Clay says. “I barely know you so before you start trying to ‘appeal’ to my sense of guilt or whatever, keep that in mind. Just tell me what you want.”

“ _Definitely_ still Clay,” Rebecca repeats, both amused and irritated. “What exactly did you or not you hide on here? If I'm seeing what I think I'm seeing, this thing is massive.” Clay watches quietly for a moment. The animus itself has its own encryption, not a particularly secret one, but one nonetheless. Taking it apart and putting it back together to be read by a completely different machine let alone program isn't exactly an everyday task. Even when he hacked into it himself, it took a lot of time and patience and, both literally and metaphorically, putting his fingers in live sockets.

“Who made this?” he asks, nodding vaguely at her set up.

“I reverse engineered some of the stuff Lucy sent me from inside,” Rebecca replies. “I had to when I built that.” She nods to her own animus, something that even now, is miles above what Abstergo had. There's two reasons for this, of course. First and foremost, Rebecca knows what she's doing more than all of the obedient workforce Abstergo could throw money at did. Secondly, its function is completely different. Abstergo designed their animus for information, even if they have to strong-arm their way through their subjects to get it.

In a way, Rebecca’s is built for comfort. Information is important but it's designed with clear intention to do as little damage and be as non-invasive as possible. It's not far off from the one Clay had found himself in, but the core is still very much the same. It will still try to eat his construct alive if he's not careful.

“Before-” Clay pauses, considers. “Fuck, I mean, there's not an easy way to put this. Before I died and before your Clay disappeared, we left a scan of ourselves in the animus, complete with memories and dna. It was the only way to assure, uh, to assure that my Desmond, uh-” Blood drips onto her desk.

“Shit, are you okay?” Rebecca asks urgently, quickly moving away from him as he pinches his nose again. This is going to be real fucking annoying, he can say that. He tilts his head back.

“Fine,” Clay scoffs skywards. “It's basically ‘AI Clay’ okay? That simple enough for you?”

“You scanned yourself into the animus well enough to make an artificial intelligence of yourself?” she questions, handing him more tissue. He once again cleans the blood off his face. At this rate he really is going to bleed out.

“The animus already reads, records, and plays back memories from the genetic line,” Clay says. “It wasn't that hard of a leap to make it process active neurological readings. Once I tricked it into taking a read of my brain, it was just a matter of rendering a construct to put those memories in and compiling a way for it to ‘learn’.”

“That's- incredible, Clay,” Rebecca compliments. “Seriously.”

“Yeah, well,” Clay murmurs, checking his nose for more blood. “I made myself functionality immortal aside from the whole ‘the animus wants to delete me’ thing. That and it's rudimentary tech vastly limited what construct me could do.”

“How so?” she asks curiously. Clay raises a brow at her.

“You're taking this pretty well,” he comments. “All things considering, anyways.”

“Clay, I once watched you dissolve caffeine pills and Adderall into a pot of coffee and ascend to the next plane to knife fight yourself,” she says. “This is way less weird.”

“After everything I've been through, I have no idea how much of that was serious,” he replies.

“Limited tech?” Rebecca repeats, bringing him back to the topic.

“Yeah, the animus wasn't exactly built to sustain an AI. There was a lot of- hiccups. Since it wasn't reading pre-existing memories anymore, storage was a huge issue. Sometimes you just can't stop thinking the same thought over and over again because it's fucking stuck on looping code. Retaining a visual imagine was next to impossible in the beginning. I could go on for days. If it weren't for the animus’ cleaning routine and safeguards, my presence probably would have caused a complete failure of the system,” he explains.

“Huh,” she replies. “Huh.” Then she's working. Clay watches her for all of the four seconds it takes him to get bored with this before turning his attention to find Desmond. He wanders away from her work space and heads for the little kitchenette to wash the blood from his hands and face. Shaun's gone, Rebecca is hyper focused, and Desmond and Lucy are nowhere to be seen.

The doors are all open so it doesn't exactly take a miracle to find them. Clay stops as far away from the door as he can while still hearing what's going on. Assassins don't accidentally leave doors open; they either want someone to hear or, more likely in this situation, Desmond doesn't want Lucy to feel trapped with him. Honestly, that's fair. This Desmond isn't exactly _larger_ , but he's better built and holds himself in a much more imposing manner.

“It's okay if you do feel like we abandoned you,” Desmond says. “You were undercover a long time and not being able to openly contact you never helps. Stockholm Syndrome is definitely a risk in situations like yours. That's why we try not to do it if we can help it.” There's quite for a few seconds before Lucy sighs.

“William didn't exactly act like it was the only option,” she assures. “I was _seventeen_ when they cut my ties.”

“I know,” Desmond agrees, softly almost. “William- made a decision in the best interest of the assassins and it was at the cost of your personal well being.”

“Vidic made some good points, Desmond, I won't lie to you,” Lucy admits. “He- the Templars- I'm _not_ one of them, okay? I just don't think they're exactly the scary monsters we grew up learning about.” Desmond breathes deeply.

“The Templars aren't ‘monsters’, Lucy,” he assures. “They're just men. Just like the Brotherhood is. Sometimes we do bad things, sometimes because we hope it's for a greater good, sometimes out of ignorance, sometimes because it has to be done- sometimes because we're just bad. We work in the darkness-”

“To guide the light, I am aware,” Lucy says mildly. “Nothing is true, everything is permitted. I get it.”

“Our war with the Templars is not ‘good verses bad’,” Desmond says. “We both want peace, _all_ men want peace. It only matters how we seek it.” This Desmond is so weirdly articulate. Clay kind of misses his Desmond, honestly.

“And how _do_ we seek it?” Lucy asks, a question she surely knows the answer to but wants to hear from Desmond anyways.

“We seek it in the knowledge that men are inherently good, Lucy,” Desmond answers. That- isn't what Clay learned.

“You- what?” Lucy replies, perplexed. Obviously this isn't what she learned, either.

“‘Freedom and individually’, yeah,” Desmond murmurs. “The Creed is full of hypocrisy and paradoxes if you take them that way. What you fight for when you fight for the assassins is up to you. I believe in the Brotherhood because I believe, when all is said and done, a man will always do what he thinks is just. Even the Templars.”

Clay never found out what happened to his Desmond in the end.

“And you still consider them our enemy?” Lucy asks.

“No,” he admits. “I don't consider anyone our enemy. There are those who pose immediate threats but no enemies.” More silence. “Uh, I know there are people in the Brotherhood who don't share my opinion, obviously. My father particularly but that doesn't mean we don't strive for the same goals. The assassins of decades ago may have gotten by on blind faith of their predecessors but things change.”

“Yeah,” Lucy says quietly. “I think I see what you're saying, Desmond.”

“Sorry, I'm not exactly the most, uh, well spoken,” Desmond admits with a sheepish, quiet huff of a laugh. “It's good to question our order, though, and our higher ups. Even if they bark about it, it keeps them level headed, you know? Nothing _is_ true.” Lucy laughs too.

“Everything is permitted,” she finishes. “I imagine our higher ups have quite the bite, though.”

“I dunno,” Desmond murmurs. “I once punched out my own dad over whether Templars wanted order or peace so-” Well that's quite the mental image, isn't it? “They raise the children they want to succeed them, I guess.”

“You and William in a fist fight?” Lucy says in amusement. “That's something I'd like to see.”

“You and Kaczmarek both,” Desmond assures. “Isn't that right, Kaczmarek?”

“Have you ever tried eavesdropping on another assassin?” Clay answers. “It doesn't fucking work.” Desmond and Lucy both laugh. Lucy wanders out of the room, looking at Clay briefly before going her own way to do whatever it is she's going to do now. Once she's gone, Clay makes his way into the room with Desmond who gives him an amused look.

“Did you want something?” he asks.

“Yeah, I wanted to hear you eat Lucy out for being a Templar,” Clay scoffs.

“Uh,” Desmond replies. “Do you mean ‘chew out’?”

“I know what I meant,” Clay says.

“Okay, sure. Sorry to disappoint you, I guess?” Desmond offers. Clay stares at him a moment and obviously, Desmond stares right back. He looks away.

“Thanks for bandaging me up,” Clay says. “I should have said so earlier but my mind is-”

“All over the place, I know,” Desmond assures. “Have something to eat while we wait for Shaun. Have a _nap_. You need rest if you're going to recover.” The cold distance returns fast likely along with the memory that this Clay isn't his ‘Kaczmarek’. “I'm sure Rebecca won't mind you sleeping in her room. She doesn't.”

He walks past Clay and back for the makeshift office.

A nap sounds nice, actually. Dreaming sure as hell doesn't.

-

Clay isn't sure when the last time this body has eaten but he knows Abstergo doesn't exactly spend a heavy portion of their funding on meal plans. It's not until there's real, solid food in front of him that he realises he's starving. Paired with the fact that he really couldn't eat as a construct, Clay finds himself gladly scarfing down food. Honestly, he doesn't care much what it is only that it is.

“Jesus, Clay,” Rebecca says, laughing as he finishes off a third bowl of pasta. “I haven’t seen you this hungry since that winter party where you got fucked up and almost made out with William.” Shaun and Desmond both snort little laughs as Clay stops shoveling food into his mouth for a second.

“I’m trying to eat here,” he says mildly. “That’s gross, Rebecca.” Everyone just laughs quietly. It’s mostly quiet between eating and not knowing exactly what to say to him. At least they’re understanding he really is a different person. Nevertheless, the silence can only go on for so long.

“Okay, you ate, you slept,” Desmond finally says. Clay definitely laid down for a while, he wouldn’t say he slept. He had tried but sleeping is harder than he remembers. For the time being, it doesn’t matter much. “We all deserve an explanation, Kaczmarek.” ‘Deserve’ is a strong word. Clay keeps eating.

There’s not exactly a good starting point to begin this and, unsurprisingly, he still doesn’t fully know what’s going on himself. What does he know? He’s not supposed to be here and the fact that he is means someone, or something, wants something from him that they can only get through him being here. He can’t access all of his memories both because some of them literally can’t be read by this human brain and because something really doesn’t want him thinking about certain things too in depth- even at the cost of his own health. Some of this Clay’s memories have bled into his own or, possibly but unlikely as there’s no reason for it, there’s fake memories.

Someone really doesn’t want him to die.

“I don’t have anything to hide,” Clay assures. “Don’t exactly have a dog in this fight, do I? What do you want to know?”

“Who are you?” Desmond asks again.

“Clay Kaczmarek,” Clay answers, giving him a solid look. This answer is never going to change, he’s fairly sure of that. “More specifically, I guess, _a_ Clay Kaczmarek.”

“But not the one we’re expecting,” Desmond repeats.

“Yeah, I think we all already fucking figured that out,” Clay scoffs. “This fucking sounds dumb as shit, okay, but my consciousness is from a different reality, _probably_ , where Desmond ran away from the Farm and I guess because of that, my talent as the world’s most amazing programmer is never realised.”

“Oh good, he’s as humble as our Clay, too,” Shaun hums sarcastically.

“The same ‘reality’ where we never catch Cross and William Miles steps up as mentor?” Lucy confirms. Clay winks at her affirmatively.

“Cross kills The Mentor and basically the whole Brotherhood goes to shit,” he assures. “Which I guess is why William is a fucking mess and throws whatever he can at the hypothetical wall that is Abstergo. Including me.”

“William was the one that sent you into Abstergo?” Rebecca asks. Clay nods. “That’s- different.”

“It was your idea, Kaczmarek,” Desmond says. “Stillman was gradually feeding us information but you needed to know what the animus was like first hand. We figured it was as good of a reason as any to find out more about their motives.”

“You were _unshaken_ ,” Shaun assures. “I’m pretty sure if Desmond didn’t let you go, you were going to try to go on your own.”

“Yeah, well, this Clay is a lot more fucking informed about what’s going on in the Brotherhood than I ever was,” Clay scoffs irritably. “I was never supposed to be an assassin, I was just emotional frail enough with a good enough genetic history for William to use me.”

“You think the Apple has something to do with this?” Desmond asks. “ _Can_ it do something like this?”

“You guys have no idea the extent of which the Apple can _fuck_ reality,” Clay says. “If the Apple is responsible, then it very well could have been a complete accident.”

“But you keep mentioning someone named Juno,” Desmond adds.

“I don't feel like bleeding into my pasta right now but yeah,” Clay agrees. “Juno might have had something to do with it.”

“Do you think the Apple can put you back?” Lucy asks. Clay shrugs.

“And you have no idea what happened to the ‘consciousness’ of our Kaczmarek,” Desmond says.

“Nope,” Clay answers. “I didn't exactly plan or want to be here. I know about as much as you guys do on that front.” He doesn't exactly expect them to believe him, it sounds like absolute garbage, but he really hopes it sounds so bizarre they understand Abstergo would have no reason to do something like this. Whether they do or don't isn't clear immediately.

“Okay,” Desmond says. Clay is sure he can think of two or three more dozen questions to ask just right now but this is a good sign he still doesn't believe a word out of Clay's mouth. “As long as we know where the Apple is and Abstergo doesn't, we have time.”

“About that,” Clay says and he can feel the sharpness he sets to the room. “Abstergo can't get the Apple as far as I'm aware. Only Desmond can.”

“ _Only_ Desmond?” Shaun echoes.

“Uhuh,” Clay agrees. “Destiny or fate or some shit, I couldn't tell you. Only Ezio could open the temple, too.”

“If Abstergo finds out-” Lucy says.

“Desmond becomes target number one, yeah,” Clay confirms. “Well, this Desmond has obviously already done that so this isn't exactly going to change anything, but that's my fair warning.” Desmond doesn't say anything. “Obviously you guys haven't found this out yet, but Desmond is like ‘the chosen one’. Do with that what you will.” A heavy silence falls. If this is the information he's intended to pass from one reality to another, Clay will be severely disappointed. He has a passing thought of Juno, of spitefully hating the idea of doing exactly what she wants, but it shoves it away for the time being to save himself the blood.

“Maybe we should leave it there, then?” Rebecca suggests.

“Oh, sure, I'm sure Abstergo will be stopped by ‘destiny’,” Shaun snorts. “They're already out for Desmond’s blood on a _good_ day. I can't imagine how much more aggressive they'll become when they realise they actually _need_ him.”

“Is there any way for them to find out?” Lucy asks. “They don’t have access to Desmond’s records so they’d have no way of knowing his genetic history. Our Clay couldn’t even sync fully with Ezio so they shouldn’t know where the Apple even is.”

“Dunno,” Clay admits. “It wasn’t _comfortable_ syncing with Ezio but I could do it. I’m guessing your Clay was stopping himself intentionally to stop from over Bleeding- or keep Vidic from the Apple. Abstergo is just going to find more test subjects and one of them is bound to lead them to the Apple, or worse, eventually.”

“So we’re on a time frame,” Rebecca says. “To- get the Apple and every other POE ever.”

“Nah,” Clay says. “We’re on a time frame because a solar flare is going to destroy the world in-” he looks at an invisible watch on his wrist. “Four years? Give or take.” Silence. “Did I not mention the solar flare?”

“No, Kaczmarek, you didn’t mention the _solar_ flare,” Desmond repeats between stressed teeth.

“Well,” Clay murmurs. “There’s a solar flare. Gonna wipe out something like ninety five percent of the population unless Apple something something Juno something Desmond. I get nose bleeds when I think about it.” More silence. Clay can feel Desmond staring absolute daggers into him but he easily ignores it in favour of more pasta.

“Just to be clear,” Shaun says. “And I’m not, like, saying I don’t believe you or anything, Clay, but are we really going to believe the insane Abstergo Clay?”

“I’m legitimately mentally ill, don’t call me insane,” Clay replies fleetingly. Shaun gestures to him in a mild but non discreet fashion as if this proves his point. “If you don’t believe me, the Clay on the hard drive will probably know more about what’s going on in this reality.”

“What’s the eta on that?” Desmond asks.

“Should be done copying soon,” Rebecca promises.

“Kaczmarek, I want you working on that immediately,” Desmond assures. Clay isn't sure what else he would have been doing but that's fine. He's just as interested, if not more, in what his better half has gotten accomplished in this reality. Programming is one thing, dating Desmond is a whole other.

“In the meantime, we keep a close eye on Abstergo,” he says. “Vidic’s death will only set them back so much.”

Once the copy is complete, Rebecca lends over her work space for Clay to dive in and she busies herself making adjusts to the animus in the meantime. Right off the bat trying to decipher a different him’s code among all the garbage that is the animus is tedious and mind numbing. He makes himself focus on it partially through the need to know and the rest out of spite towards the other Clay but time flitters away in strange lapses like a skipping disk. Progress is made and loss and made again and this other version of him was just as brutal and efficient as this Desmond is.

He’d have to be, Clay realises. He was going toe to toe with everything Abstergo had and with Desmond an honest, ever present threat to them, Abstergo is a different beast in this reality.

There’s always someone around even as it grows late and everyone else disappears to sleep. Desmond, Rebecca, and Shaun take turns on watch like clockwork- something they’ve always done not only started to watch Clay. Two thirds of this watch couldn’t stop him if he so wanted to do them harm. Clay doesn’t, no matter how thoroughly pissed off about this situation he continues to grow, but it’s curious.

Clay knows he drifts in and out of sleep without really realising it, only glad these little naps are shallow and empty. It only comes to pass that his mind wanders.

Why is he here? What does he have, what does he _know_ that this Clay couldn’t have found out eventually? Obviously lots of things and much sooner but to what _end_? So alternate realities exist and, through whatever means he is here, are accessible, that only means that everything is utterly pointless. Butterfly effect and all that makes everything and anything possible across an infinite number of realities.

What brought him from his own to this one and for what reason?

Juno. Clay forces himself to think about it. She wanted him to help Desmond at the cost of himself- not that he wasn’t going to die with Vidic anyways. So he did because she didn’t give him much of a choice and at the end of the day, he guesses he wanted to matter in some way, _any_ way. She wouldn’t do this. She wouldn’t _allow_ this, she has no reason to.

The Apple is definitely still a contender. Did his Desmond do this? Accidentally or intentionally. Perhaps both, even. If that’s the case though, why does his brain so vehemently refuse to think about the First Civilization to the point that he has a physical reaction? No, even if it was Desmond’s doing someone has seen an opportunity in this. He pushes more, further, trying to reach any semblance of this Clay’s memories or thoughts or anything.

“Kaczmarek,” Desmond says suddenly.

“Shut up,” Clay answers harshly. “I’m thinking.”

“ _Stop_ ,” Desmond snaps at him, grabbing him hard enough to pull him from his thoughts. Clay shakes him off immediately and they stare irritably at one another until he feels the blood drip from his chin. Quickly he covers his mouth and nose with his hand, reaching with his other hand for a tissue. He curses under his breath when one tissue isn’t enough to soak up all of it. Something _really_ doesn’t want him thinking about it. Desmond puts a hand on his forehead and tilts his head back, at least stopping the blood from ending up all over himself- again.

“Whatever’s causing this, you need to stop,” he says, a very thin edge of worry to his tone that’s almost mistakable for anything else. “What part of ‘you don’t have enough blood’ didn’t you get?”

“I’m not gonna bleed out from a nosebleed,” Clay assures irritably. “Probably.”

“Shouldn’t you be working?” Desmond asks instead, obviously not interested in this argument. Clay looks at the screen even more irritable before exhaling a noise.

“Your me was a fucking asshole,” he murmurs. “This is going to take some doing.”

“Sounds right,” Desmond agrees, having a seat nearby and leaning back to rest his feet on Rebecca’s desk. Clay looks at him, not particularly interested in having an audience but he’s not sure anything he says is going to deter Desmond anyways. “So focus.”

“Sure, I’ll just ‘be better’,” Clay replies sarcastically as he flicks a bloody tissue away from him. “That’s gone well in the past.” Desmond doesn’t say anything and Clay scoffs to himself as he turns back to the computer.

Decrypting isn't doing a whole lot, admittedly. Most of what Clay is doing is allowing Rebecca’s set up to do what it's made to do. It's a lot more advanced than he was expecting but likewise, he can only decode as fast as her computer can fact check which even a good computer has a lot to chew through with this Clay's code. At the end of the day, he's made a lot more progress than he expected.

Clay glances at Desmond who seems content to sit near by and not know even remotely what's happening. He doesn't ask questions though which, personally, Clay is happy about. Desmond looks back at him.

“How did you and your Clay get together?” Clay asks. By the look he gets back, this was not a particularly friendly conversation starter. This Desmond has such a mean face when he wants to. “I've explained everything I could about my situation. I think the least I deserve is knowing something about this Clay's life and how I fucked it up. Or is that too ‘sensitive’ of information?” Again, Desmond’s face twitches like he wants to sneer but can't quite pull it off. Instead, he firms his face even more and stares at Clay without waiver for a few seconds. Clay doesn't flinch and eventually Desmond exhales quietly and tilts his head back.

“Fine,” he agrees shortly. Clay wasn't entirely expecting that. He didn't think Desmond would willingly tell him anything about the other Clay _ever_. He watches a little better.

“Ironically, William kind of pushed us together,” Desmond explains, crossing his arms almost defiantly as he talks. “He recruited Kaczmarek on his ancestral history, like you. We've had tips from inside Abstergo for years. Kaczmarek’s name popped up, he hadn't been snatched up yet, and he was privy to our cause. Before they recruited him, we weren't sure how he’d do. He was spacey, unmotivated, highly depressed and overly disciplined.” Clay isn't sure he'd use all of those words exactly, but he knows the state he had been in working construction for what little time he had done so. He'd truly rather die than do that again.

“He was significantly better once inducted-” Yeah, he also remembers that. A briefly decent time in his life. “He performed exceptionally. Well, William realised that he performed even better when I was around.” This is an interesting bit of information. Obviously this Clay did form something of an obsession for Desmond. Considering what Clay knows about this Desmond, he can easily see a younger, more naïve version of himself immediately latching onto Desmond as an aspiring figure.

“So William organized me to work with Kaczmarek, Shaun, and Rebecca,” Desmond continues. “Kaczmarek showed substantial increases in productivity. It was obvious why, even to me, but at the time, I was neutral on the situation. It wasn’t the first time my father has used me to get what he wants.” He almost sounds bitter but then again, he has every right to be. It seems like this Desmond gave up whatever slight happiness he got from running away in exchange for preventing the Templars from completely pushing out the brotherhood and likely ruining everything.

“Kaczmarek kept to himself so there was no reason to discredit him or rebuff him. A little weird but-” Desmond glances vaguely to Rebecca and Shaun still fiddling with the animus. “We were an efficient team.”

“I was referring more to the dating thing,” Clay comments pointedly.

“I’m aware,” Desmond assures. “I don’t think Kaczmarek was ever consciously aware what he felt for me was more romantic, or even sexual. He was-”

“Growing up with a homophobic father tends not to leave a person all that willing to accept being queer,” Clay interjects.

“Exactly,” Desmond answers noncommittally. “We worked together about a year before we started dating. You and Rebecca- Kaczmarek and Rebecca created this system to let us know when one of our safe houses is potentially in danger. I guess it’s like an algorithm, a very very complex one- it takes in information about what’s happening, news articles and mission reports and some other things, I’m sure, and it figures out the chance that something might happen.” That sounds mythical if not completely unrealistic. Clay is good at what he does, great even, but this Clay- was it really only Desmond that made such a severe difference?

“It takes up a lot of processing power though, Clay- Kaczmarek spent the better half of two months rigging up the worst looking server setup I’ve ever seen but it works,” Desmond says. “To this day, it’s been correct ninety eight percent of the time and the other two percent are false positives, not failure to catch. This shit’s all technical jargon to me but- Kaczmarek pioneered some of the most advanced equipment the Brotherhood has had in centuries, since Leonardo Da Vinci, even. Of course, Kaczmarek is scatter brained and at best hyper focuses on garbage all day so if it weren’t for Rebecca I doubt he’d have ever gotten anything done but my point remains.” The Achilles heel of genius, Clay guesses. He understands a little better why Rebecca is so friendly to him in this reality, why she inherently wants to involve him in what she’s doing. They’re two halves of a better whole.

“This algorithm, Hera, goes with the ‘Hephaestus’ theme I guess,” Desmond scoffs but it’s amused almost. “Set off a warning in a safe house in California. A really bad one. We looked into it some more and it seemed likely that there was an internal security breach. After our leak in two thousand eight, we- again, Kaczmarek and Rebecca, rather forcibly took up the responsibility of making our servers basically impenetrable. The downside is, if we’re ever locked out, we also can’t get back in. Obviously the Mentor wasn’t about that and so Kaczmarek introduced something he called the ‘domino’ effect. It would take a year of uninterrupted decoding to break into our servers but if they could, it would only take them half the time for the next one, a quarter after that, an eighth, a sixteenth-”

“I get it,” Clay says impatiently. “This me was ridiculously good at anything he set his mind to. Great.”

“Needless to say, keeping Abstergo out of our servers is top priority. If they got a hold of even one of Kaczmarek and Rebecca’s technologies, even the blueprints, there’s no telling what kind of counter measures we’d be up against,” Deamond continues. Another disadvantage of genius. “So we go. Stuff like that, the Mentor trusts me to handle above anyone else.”

“The Brotherhood’s attack dog,” Clay laughs. “The only one they ever trained perfect.” Desmond doesn’t say anything for a few moments and when he finally does, he, fairly, doesn’t acknowledge Clay’s comment.

“Some poking around, yeah, there’s a mole. We tried to be discreet, passed off our visit under the guise of another mission, but the easiest way to assure our information stays secure is a blackout. Cut the power to the whole safehouse, back up and everything. The mole gets spooked and, sure enough, runs straight to Abstergo,” Desmond says. “We have no idea what they had or how much and there was no way we could let Abstergo have it.” He seems to stop to think, thumbing his chin as he looks distantly somewhere else.

“They were ready for me. Approaching the building wasn’t impossible but not ideal. Rebecca and Shaun aren’t trained for combat situations. If they need to, they can defend themselves, sure, but going into an Abstergo headquarters isn’t something they can do. You, though, I had to rely on you. I wasn’t happy about it.” Clay can imagine. He was trained to handle himself much like Rebecca and Shaun but the difference is, he was trained to handle himself _inside_ Abstergo. The degree to which this Desmond can approach a situation is beyond what Clay thinks any version of himself could do.

“I wasn’t sure how your ‘feelings’ for me would affect your ability to do the job,” Desmond admits. “But we didn’t have a choice. Turns out, you understood that the best way to keep me safe was to do your job correctly. You did exactly what you needed to. Everything went off without a hitch. It was- it was the first time I think I realised Kaczmarek’s feelings were more than aesthetic infatuation.” Maybe it was only Desmond. Maybe he was the catalyst, even and shining, that Clay needed to center himself around. Almost, he thinks, he almost had something like that with his Desmond but their time was limited and Desmond’s brain already too scattered to be any help to Clay’s incoherent, dead one.

Stress and the bleeding effect and potentially Juno and the Apple, all severe outer influences but if this Desmond was so important to this Clay, he can’t believe, can’t _fathom_ , this Clay ever gave up on him.

“On the plane ride back home, I asked Kaczmarek why he had never asked me out,” Desmond says, offering a floaty gesture of the hand. “I caught him off guard, of course, and he babbled something about not being gay.” Clay snorts a laugh that Desmond quietly echoes. “I think saying it outloud made him realise how stupid it was because he didn’t say anything else the whole trip home. When we got there, he asked me if I really would give him a chance if he asked.”

_You, Desmond fucking Miles, would actually go on a date with me if I asked? There’s absolutely no way._

“And I asked if you were going to ask then,” Desmond says.

_Are you going to find out?_

“And you said,” Desmond pauses to scoff a small laugh, one Clay hears twice over. “You weren’t sure people like us have time to date.”

_Shit, I mean, is that even a thing we can do? Do you know how much computer garbage the Brotherhood keeps piling on me? Hell, I don’t think you’ve_ ever _had a break in your life._

“And then you said-”

“Does having chinese food in my room count as a date?” Clay says. “We do that- we do that anyways but, uh, shit, we could watch a movie, too? Fuck, just say no so I can move on to resenting my dumb fucking mouth.” Desmond doesn’t say anything. “And then, then you laughed and I think- that was the first time I had ever seen you laugh like that and I thought, wow, I’m really going to screw this up.”

Not his memories or his words, not a concrete image Clay can cling to in his head but definitely there.

“And you said ‘that sounds nice’,” Clay goes on. “And I almost died.” Desmond nods, now watching Clay with what he can only describe as ‘longing’. It’s gone as soon as it has come, though, and he tilts his head back again with a sigh.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “And we were inseparable since. William was- well, he wasn’t happy, I don’t think. It wasn’t his intention to actually see anything come from it, but his disapproval was never you only, well, yeah.” Clay crosses his arms, staring at the monitor before him with little ability to comprehend anything on it. He asked and he got an answer but at the time, Clay had no reason to believe him. Now, he believes fully that Desmond honestly and openly tried to get this version of him out of Abstergo. It hurts.

“Kaczmarek called his dad, you know,” Desmond murmurs a little quieter. “Told him we were dating. I think he wanted confirmation that it was okay to leave his old life behind. It didn’t go well.” No, Clay imagines not. Calling his father after who knows how long without speaking to him only to tell him that he’s queer and has a boyfriend now is a nightmare Clay doesn’t even want to remember.

“I- never told Kaczmarek this,” Desmond goes on softly. “His dad called back later, sober I guess. Apologised a lot, regretted the things he said.” Clay looks at Desmond but Desmond doesn’t look back. “And I told him if he ever tried to contact Clay again, I’d personally find him. Never heard from him since.” That’s probably for the better, honestly. Clay’s father has issues of his own and at the end of the day, he truly hopes the man finds some kind of relief of his own, but there is no excuse for the treatment Clay, any Clay, suffered at his hand.

“Did you love him, Desmond?” Clay asks. Desmond sighs, more deeply and it’s obvious this conversation has gone on further than he has anticipated. He tilts his head from side to side, stretching his neck quietly.

“How long do you think you’ll need?” Desmond asks, nodding at the computer.

“Desmond,” Clay replies more urgently than he wants to. “I need- You have no fucking idea how much I need to know that some _fucking_ version of me-” He stops, presses his fingers into his eyes as if to wear away the forming headache. “You know what, nevermind.”

“I am not scared of things, Kaczmarek,” Desmond says. “I am absolutely terrified I’ll _never_ get to talk to him again. I am fucking terrified he ‘disappeared’ or ‘died’ or _whatever_ thinking I _didn’t_ , that I wasn’t going to come for him. Of course I fucking loved him.” Clay inhales slowly. No, he doesn’t think this Clay is dead and not just because whatever he left on the animus is easily a perfect reconstruction of himself. It doesn’t make sense.

“A couple days,” Clay murmurs. “The cipher looks like it’s surprisingly similar after all. Parallel theories, law of large numbers stuff.” Desmond pulls his feet off the desk and he leans forward on his knees, closer to Clay than before.

“You are _a_ Kaczmarek,” he says. “I get that. I don’t hate you for that or for not being _my_ Kaczmarek but- I _need_ him back. I will do _anything_ to get him back, okay?”

“No shit,” Clay answers sarcastically. “You made that pretty fucking clear, buddy. Could I get some working space now or are you just going to breathe over my shoulder all night.” The look Desmond gives him isn’t amused but obviously used to this- of course he would be. With that, he gets to his feet and repositions himself to stand over Rebecca and Shaun instead.

Clay regrets, again, that he is going to have to get in the animus at some point. The more he thinks about it, the more he’s deeply concerned about the havoc this slightly different animus will have on the fragile ecosystem of his mind and vice versa. At best, everything goes fine and he gets to fade back into oblivion while the ‘right’ Clay gets his body back. At worse?

Mutually assured destruction.

In the meantime, though, he continues to work. Between moments of shambling through various decode efforts, Clay really thinks about what Desmond had told him. He could definitely see how this version of him took one look at the fit, intimidating, put together Desmond and immediately saw him as a strong male figure to 'hero’ worship. Of course, it was all about respect and definitely not the fact that he wanted Desmond to bend him over a table and fuck him senseless.

Which, honestly, is a notion the current Clay can agree with. This Desmond clearly doesn't care for him, he's mean and stiff and nothing short of the Brotherhood’s lap dog and Clay would still gladly let Desmond push him down and raw him. That being said, had he thought about it more at the time, he probably would have let his own Desmond do that, too. What he felt for his own Desmond first was resentment, obviously, resentment that turned into a weird pity that looped back around to resented respect. In among all those feelings, his Desmond was still pretty hot.

Okay, so, maybe until he found out this Clay was in a relationship with a guy, he had never really considered that to be a thing for him. He's probably not gay? He likes very specific ladies but in retrospect, was probably more willing to go down on a lot more dudes than he should have for a straight man.

Rebecca’s computer making noises at him gets his attention back and he focuses on the error that's popped up. Suddenly he finds himself no longer decrypting but instead deep in the programming of Rebecca’s set up, reworking the several odd patch jobs in the code and dutifully fixing minute things that were probably of no consequence.

He falls asleep.


	3. Decode

The smell of food instantly wakes Clay back up and he lifts his head with a tired, bemused sound before focusing on the bowl held in front of him. Without so much as thinking about it, he takes it and chows down. He's going to get tired of pasta eventually but it's going to take a lot of fucking pasta for that.

“How's it coming?” Rebecca asks as she joins him, pulling up a seat close and starting on her own food.

“Huh? I dunno, I got distracted,” Clay admits with a shrug. He's honestly forgotten that in a human body, his brain can barely manage itself between the ADHD, the PTSD, the ‘double’ depression, and the imposter syndrome, which itself sounds fake, like some sort of horror mixture of the worst counter productive symptoms a person could ask for. As a construct, it was much less of an issue. He could multitask as far and as wide as he wanted to and until Desmond came along, he was alone; two things that had kept him busy for a long time in animus time.

He's sort of a ticking time bomb now. The state of his brain, merged and coded and scrambled, definitely isn't helping that. It's the countdown to when Clay is going to have a massive psychological break and render himself more or less useless for who knows how long.

“You're really not much different from our Clay, you know,” Rebecca comments. “I mean, I'm shocked to say this but you're a little meaner otherwise, basically the same.” A little meaner, a little more dumb, a little less skilled: this Clay had friends and help and whatever. He got a therapist and William.

“Okay,” Clay answers rather standoffishly. She keeps trying to make friends with him but he doesn't plan on being around nearly that long. Once he's done with his work, they can hopefully have their old Clay back. He could have jumped into Desmond’s body, it should be even simpler for this Clay to reclaim his _own_ body. It's clear his memories, and therefore his person, still exists in this brain somewhere.

“I'm trying to make sure you don't feel like we hate you for not being him, you know,” Rebecca assures him. ‘You're basically just our Clay but mean’ doesn't seem like the best way to go about that, he'll be honest.

“Yeah, I get it. You don't ‘hate’ me but you'd kill to get the other me back,” Clay says. “Point made. No further assurance needed. Don't need to talk to me anymore.”

“Desmond is-” she pauses, still very obviously talking to him. Clay hadn't expected that to work, sure, but he could hope. They both look to the office Desmond has sealed himself off to all the same. “Going through a lot with this, okay? Clay was sort of the only person he had that he felt he could be ‘vulnerable’ with, you know?” Clay is suddenly hyper aware of what few times Desmond has slipped up and called him by his first name.

“He doesn't trust you and Shaun?” Clay asks, arching a brow.

“He does,” Rebecca says and there's a lingering ‘but’ she doesn't say. “He and Clay just- understood each other, that's all. That and Clay was really the only one that was willing to go against William, hell or The Mentor, for him.” This Desmond is so different from the one Clay knows, it never occurred to him that his presence here may have had an equally significant impact on Desmond. That's conversation with Lucy seems a lot more loaded now.

“We done with this heart to heart thing?” Clay asks as he pushes his empty bowl aside. “I got work to do.” Rebecca snorts back.

“You have a heart?” she murmurs. “That's different.” By the way she smiles, it's clearly a joke but Clay doesn't smile until she's left him to his own devices. This Clay was onto something, wasn't he?

Clay goes back to decrypting, painfully slow and tedious. Any spite or curiosity he had for this has quickly worn away to pure irritation. He dozes in and out of sleep. Between his still very prominent blood loss, excruciating boredom, and just general fatigue from having been tortured the last several months, it’s not too surprising that he keeps nodding off. He awakes periodically to do more work, gradually but surely make progress, but keeping track of time was never a well practiced skill of his anyways.

Why would the First Civilization from his reality care about what happened to this one? Answer; they probably wouldn’t. Current theory: Desmond accidentally revived him from the animus using the Apple, with no body to link to, his consciousness swarmed to the nearest ‘him’, unsurprisingly wildly across dimensions, bullied the emotionally fragile Clay already here, and now the Juno and-or other First Civilization has noticed his presence and are manipulating him to try to correct the course of this reality back on track. If Desmond never left the Brotherhood, then it goes without saying that this reality is probably fucked. Clay isn’t sure there’s anything he can do to change that especially so late in the game.

Theory two: if the multi-dimensional theory is, in fact, correct, then everything is nothing but a chaotic, nonsensical happenstance where nothing matters, nothing ever will matter, and anything he does anywhere is irrelevant because there are an infinite amount of other versions of himself that have done both the same and different things. If that’s the case, Clay is trapped in a reality not his with an unclear goal, if any, subjecting himself to stress for no particular reason and making life much more difficult for the Clay supposed to be here.

But, if for a brief second, this actually matters in any regard whatsoever; whoever left Clay in charge of it made a horrible, terrible mistake.

The Juno of his reality wanted him to- wanted him to help Desmond prevent a solar apocalypse for reasons unclear. It’s safe to assume, this Juno would want that as well. There was more to this though, he knows it, she had ulterior motives and Clay _knows_ he knew about them. Desmond- he can still save Desmond here. His Desmond is-

“ _Shit_ , grab him! Kaczmarek, stay with us!”

Clay is a extremely disoriented when he wakes up again and he’s not in front of Rebecca’s computer but rather, laying in a bed. He sits up quickly, almost immediately making himself pass out again, and fumbles to find his bearings. The whole world spins and a hand grabs him firmly.

“Kaczmarek,” Desmond says sternly. “Lay down.” Blood. His blood, obviously, staining the front of his shirt so heavily he can barely tell what colour it was. The last thing he remembers is having a weird conversation with Rebecca and then apparently he took a blood bath. He doesn’t lay back down, as much as Desmond tries to push him back, and instead touches his nose and mouth. It’s still tacky to the touch, he hasn’t been out long.

“What happened?” he murmurs.

“You keep thinking about things I told you not to and decided to try to kill yourself, again, by bleeding all over Rebecca’s computer,” Desmond informs him irritably. Clay focuses a little better in order to see what Desmond is doing, perched on the edge of the bed with more medical looking items nearby. He’d feel better about bleeding for information if he could actually remember what it was he was thinking about. He should start writing stuff down. That sounds like the perfect way to leave behind even more scrawlings of a madman but what choice does he have?

“What are you doing?” Clay asks, actively deciding not to try to defend his right to think whatever the fuck he wants to think. Desmond flexes his arm briefly as he inserts a small needle into his own vein.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood,” he replies fleetingly. “You need a transfusion. And you need to stop giving yourself nose bleeds.” If it was that easy, he would. As it so happens, Clay isn’t fully sure what it is that’s giving him nose bleeds. Mostly because he keeps forgetting about it.

“Are we even a match?” Clay asks, trying to rub some of the blood from his face. At this point, it would probably be more productive if Desmond just bled all over him.

“Doesn’t matter,” Desmond says. “I’m O negative.”

“Of course you are,” Clay replies. “Absolutely perfect.” Desmond doesn’t say anything. He works diligently and quietly, drawing blood down the tube with a bit of suction before pinching it off and holding it between two forefingers. Then he turns back to Clay and takes his bandaged arm in his hand, as carefully as ever. Clay hates to think of himself as fragile but right now, it’s not inaccurate. The best he can do at the moment is let Desmond work.

“Shouldn’t a medical expert be doing this?” he asks, watching as Desmond leaks a drop of blood from the other end of the needle.

“No time,” comes the less than comforting response. “I’m a trained field medic. I’ve given blood before.” Clay’s going to make the assumption he means ‘his blood’ and decide not to further this conversation. Desmond makes a final check to assure there’s no air in it before pushing in Clay’s arm enough to display a vein and promptly poking him. There’s something weird about getting blood directly from Desmond but Clay can’t say for sure what it is.

“Thanks,” Clay murmurs quietly. “I think? This is weird.”

“You’re welcome,” Desmond answers plainly. As much as he may dislike this Clay, it’s clear he’s not going to be malicious about it. Either that or he finally realises that this Clay still has his Clay’s body and as such, killing him also kills any chance of bringing his Clay back. There’s nothing to do but sit and wait for Desmond to decide he’s given enough blood and in the meantime, Clay tries not to think about anything that would potentially just lead to spilling it all over the front of him again. It’s harder than he expected.

He focuses on Desmond instead, watching as he sits quietly, honed in on his phone as if something immensely important is on it. Desmond seems to notice he’s staring and, of course, looks back at him questioningly.

“Do you ever get a break?” Clay asks.

“Not really,” Desmond says. “Templars don’t rest and Master Assassins learn not to sleep.” In exchange for never escaping the Brotherhood, Desmond gets to shoulder the weight of the whole damn thing. Lucky him. For escaping the Brotherhood he gets- to shoulder the weight of something far grander and far more complex than himself. Clay may have resented Demond at a point if for nothing other than being the most important, most perfect fucking guy in the world, but he was never jealous. He’d never want to _be_ Desmond.

“Take these,” Desmond murmurs, handing Clay a handful of pills that, with his vision still trying to make him see two Desmond, he can’t quite make heads or tails of.

“Why?” Clay replies curtly. He’s already half bled to death, he isn’t interested in taking anything to ‘help him sleep’ or sedate him for that matter.

“Because the way I figure it, you still have Kaczmarek’s body and brain and regardless of where your consciousness has come from, his brain is still wired like his brain,” Desmond says. “Kaczmarek knew the risks of having to stop his meds so suddenly and I’m sure that didn’t help with-” he nods his head Clay’s shredded arms. Clay looks at the pills again. “They’re prescription. Take them.”

“Yeah,” Clay says quietly. “Okay.” Desmond hands him a bottle of water and Clay swallows them down one at a time. They’re different and more than the ones he had been taking before, well, before a lot of things. Desmond goes back to his phone. It’s clear, even now, Desmond does a lot more than bite who they tell him to and go where he’s told. Maybe, even at the sacrifice of Desmond actually enjoying a brief few years of his life, he’s actually changed the Brotherhood for the better.

Clay nods off again.

By the time he awakens again, Desmond has moved on to better things and Clay has a little pink bandage where he’d been poked with the needle. If he feels any better, he can’t tell much.

He should get back to work.

-

Clay is alone. It takes him a curious second to realise this and he suspiciously looks around the monitor to see where everyone has gone. Desmond should be on watch at the moment which makes this particularly strange. Rebecca and Shaun are surely doing their ‘horizontal tango’, Lucy mostly remains cooped up in her room while she writes her report and sorts her traitor thoughts, and Desmond- where is Desmond?

Taking any reason not to work for a few minutes, Clay wanders off to search. It's taken him much longer than he'd like to admit to realise why Lucy, a member of Desmond’s team mostly only in theory, has a room here while Clay doesn't. Kaczmarek shares Desmond’s room, obviously. ‘Inseparable’. Not physically, of course, they're both assassins with jobs to do, things to oversee, reasons to be apart for minutes to months with the only contact being to the point emails. He thinks Kaczmarek literally not existing at the moment is the closest thing to ‘separate’ Desmond has ever felt to Kaczmarek.

It's unsurprising to find Desmond in his office but slightly more surprising to find him in it with the door closed while he's supposed to be on watch. Using a significant amount more of his training to pass undetected this time, Clay quietly moves in closer to eavesdrop. Desmond’s firm, steady voice naturally carries when he's upset and boy he sounds upset.

“We have no way to even _know_ if that's something Kaczmarek can even do anymore,” Desmond says irritably. “He's still not himself. He's still _recovering_. Putting him back in the field this soon is a bad idea, William.”

“I am _aware_ of that, Desmond,” William answers. His voice is further away, calmer but heavy even through the speaker of which it comes. “This is not something I ask you to do lightly but we have no other choice. Clay Kaczmarek is the only one with the experience to deal with something like this.”

“Experience he doesn't _remember_ ,” Desmond answers between teeth. “He can barely keep his head up most of the time. He's severely injured and _sick_. If we put him in a stressful situations like this or if he gets hurt while it happens, we might not get him back a second time.”

“I know the risks, Desmond,” William says again, even more coldly than before. Clay has no idea what this is about and he especially doesn't like that. “You said this was a situation you could deal with.”

“And I _am_ ,” Desmond snaps. “And right now, I'm dealing with it by telling you no. This can wait, at least until Kaczmarek isn't suffering from fucking narcolepsy- maybe even until he gets his actual footing back again. Again you're putting a member’s well being in danger to follow fucking breadcrumbs. I've told you before and I'll tell you again, I won't risk people’s lives for results, William.” There's a long, silent moment. Clay isn't sure how to take this, if Desmond is doing this strictly because of Kaczmarek or if he's just prone to going against his father and likely whatever even higher power William is acting upon. Not knowing what it's about, Clay can't say for sure if he could actually handle it let alone if it would be risky for him right now.

Is he really narcoleptic? A nap now and then because he's violently exhausted seems like a fair thing.

He hears William sigh.

“Desmond, we don't have time for this,” he says. Clay rolls his eyes. It's clear even to him that Desmond is not going to budge on this issue. “I am your father and you will listen to me-” It's hard not to bark out a laugh. As if _that_ is enough to sway Desmond from his stance. “Take Kaczmarek to the antiquity site. Recover the artifact before Abstergo can locate it.”

There's another long pause. Clay is almost worried Desmond is going to hear him breathing in the silence.

“Okay,” Desmond says. What? William pulls the ‘father card’ and suddenly Desmond just bends like that? God, they really fucked him up, didn't they? “Okay, fine. It should be fine. If Abstergo doesn't know where it is yet, then maybe we won't meet any resistance. _Fuck_ , I'm going to have to keep him awake somehow.”

“I know you have this under control,” William assures.

“If _anything_ happens to Kaczmarek-” Desmond warns and he stops again, quiet cutting between them. “I will _never_ forgive you.” Clay hears Desmond sigh but nothing further from William. Whatever this was about, he's clearly going to find out soon. An artifact? Is William making them go after the Apple already? They have no idea what will happen if Desmond tries to take it now.

“Kaczmarek,” Desmond says firmly and Clay jolts a little. He's finding out much sooner than he anticipated, obviously. Is he really that rusty or is Desmond that good? “We have something to attend to. Shower and change your clothes. Be ready in thirty.”

“Do I get to know what this is about or am I just supposed to follow the ‘master assassin’ blindly into death?” Clay asks. He jumps back a little when Desmond suddenly opens the door, looking blandly at him.

“I’ll tell you on the way,” he assures.

“You can’t tell me in the half hour before that?” Clay replies mildly.

“I have to go do something,” Desmond says. “Be ready.” Not waiting for a further response, he walks past Clay, nearly bumping into him when neither of them give way, and head for the exit. “Rebecca! I’m making a run! Thirty minutes tops!”

“Got it!” Rebecca answers from, well, Clay would assume somewhere under Shaun. Looking at the blood still all over himself, Clay decides a shower and some clean clothes are probably a good idea, yeah.

At any rate, it's probably not the Apple. William surely would have mentioned it more directly and even then, this Clay shouldn't have had ‘experience’ with it already. He's not sure what this is about, he doesn't know what other things the Brotherhood had their fingers in back in his own reality. Considering how few of them were left, it's likely this is something completely new.

Clay showers and, sure enough, find some clean clothes in Desmond’s room- _graciously_ left open for him. It's as sterile and shallowly decorated as anything else here, leaving nothing behind to snoop through and nothing interesting to focus on. Considering how long he had been in Abstergo, he's not surprised to find that besides some clothes, he doesn't really have any possessions here, either. Ideally he's sure they would have gone straight back home after retrieving him.

Admittedly, he feels so much better clean and in clean clothes. He almost feels like a person again. The others are still hobbled away in their respective rooms by the time he's finished so Clay just returns to his decoding. He feels like he's making progress, and good progress at that, but the end seems far out of reach still. Why did he have to make this so fucking complicated, anyways?

Clay regards the animus with the same animosity he's sure it has for him. He's still very aware that he could find the key, with stunning ease, within Ezio’s memories and be done with this in less than an hour. It's still an option and at this point, he knows he's going to have to get back in it at some point anyways. There's no avoiding it. If he wants his mind back, or at any rate, if he wants his memories back, he'll have to use the animus to get to them.

“Clay?” Rebecca murmurs, touching his shoulder faintly. Clay blinks his eyes open blearily, looking at the computer screen briefly for a moment before back at her. He gives her an irritably questioning look. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Clay answers curtly. “Just thinking.”

“If it's the kind that's going to make you bleed all over my set up again, I don't think Desmond is going to be happy,” Rebecca assures. Clay scoffs.

“Why doesn't Desmond use the animus?” he asks. He has his assumptions, of course, but nothing settles his mind like solid answers. If only he got any of those around here. Or ever.

“I assume it's because we don't really know the full extent of the Bleeding Effect,” she replies bemusedly. “That's sort of what you were trying to figure out going into Abstergo.”

“You ‘assume’?” Clay repeats. Rebecca shrugs.

“Desmond is barred from using the animus to relive genetic memories by The Mentor himself,” she explains. “I'm not sure even he knows the reason.” It's easy to assume that they're just being safe with their assets, of which Desmond is obviously one of their greater ones, but there feels like there's more going on here.

“Kaczmarek,” Desmond says the second he comes through the door. Has it really been half an hour already? “Let's go.” Clay makes a face of discontent. He'd still like to know _what_ they're doing before he gets dragged into it but obviously he's not going to be getting that courtesy. As he gets up, Desmond motions him just as stiffly and vaguely impatiently back out the way he's come in. Clay takes his sweet time.

“Rebecca, you and Shaun be prepared for support,” Desmond instructs. He might as well have pushed Clay out the door he crowds against his back so close. Clay takes a couple quicker steps to put some room between them so he's not trampled.

“Will do,” Rebecca answers pleasantly. Maybe Desmond is nicer when he's who he should be. Maybe the other Clay is more used to this.

The outside air is refreshing and Clay gladly basks in it while Desmond does whatever it is he's doing. Italy looks different in person, acts different. It's been so long since he's been in real, present day Italy- or present day at all, actually. How long has he been here now? Abstergo seems far away and yet, an ever constant threat biting at their heels. Same as his own reality.

Desmond pushes a helmet into his chest. Clay takes it, looks at it curiously, then back up at Desmond as he pulls on his own helmet. A motorcycle helmet for- Desmond’s motorcycle. A laugh bubbles in Clay's throat.

“Seems like a fair exchange,” he says to which Desmond says nothing. The very thing that got him dragged to Abstergo, brought back to the Brotherhood, so nonchalantly and thoughtlessly just kind of here. Clay isn't sure if it's ironic or just or really hot actually. Desmond flicks his finger against the helmet he's passed Clay, his own face now shielded away by the tinted glass front. This, obviously, isn't just any regular helmet.

It takes Clay a moment to get it pulled on, the elastic neck both protecting his neck and effectively sealing him into the helmet. The silence is deafening and claustrophobia sets in within seconds. Desmond lifts the glass up and immediately Clay can hear the world again. He sucks in a much too sharp, much too panicked breath for his liking.

“Relax,” Desmond tells him and then he's reaching into Clay’s helmet. He looks unhappily at the shapely fingers that accurately interact with something within the helmet. “That's why you turn this on first, usually.”

“Did you forget I have no idea what the fuck is going on most of the time?” Clay replies, a small jolt going through him as Desmond snaps the glass closed again. This time, the world beyond isn't muted, just muffled.

“You never rode a bike in your reality?” Desmond asks and his voice is now presented inside the helmet. Oh. Great. This is both cool and absolutely the worst. Clay hates it.

“Internal intercom system with sound suppressant?” he murmurs, mostly to himself. “Did Rebecca make this?”

“I kept losing my ear piece on missions,” Desmond replies with a shrug. Clay would say it's weird not seeing Desmond’s face but honestly, with how mute this one's expressions are, there's hardly much of a difference. He watches as Desmond mounts his bike and quite obviously assumes Clay is going to get on the back of it. This seems, by far, like a horrible idea all things about Clay considered but again, he doesn't see himself getting out of this by pointing that out. At best, he's just going to make things worse for himself.

Desmond would tie them together or something, he's sure.

To his benefit, Desmond does assure Clay is properly on and clung to his waist before he takes off. The helmet, as it turns out, is a god send. As much as the slightly muffled outside is strange, Clay isn't sure he would have done better with the sound of whipping air and the pressure of his eardrums popping. The ride itself is fine, though.

“Are you going to tell me now where we're going?” Clay reminds irritably.

“William wants us to collect a shard,” Desmond replies. Clay sighs loudly. “Okay, you don't know what a shard is. We don't really either, so I guess we're on fair ground.”

“You haven't told Bill I'm not your Clay, have you?” Clay asks.

“No,” Desmond says curtly. “Until I know what's going on, William isn't in the ‘need to know’.” There is something particularly satisfying about Desmond dismissing his father so easily. “Shards are encrypted files that started to crop up a couple years ago now. They appear arbitrarily and they can't be moved without being decoded first. Usually they show up on old computers but anything with processing power and a screen can host them. We found a pager once. If it's unplugged or the battery dies or whatever, the shard is lost forever.”

“Okay. What kind of data is on these shards that's so important?” Clay asks.

“Memories,” Desmond answers. “Usually small clips. They can only be read by the animus and they're usually from the point of view of someone otherwise ‘normal’. Until recently, we couldn't read them at all via, you know, not having a functioning animus.”

“Then why is it so important?” Clay scoffs mildly. It sounds like they're being sent on a fetch quest for no other reason than to do it.

“Abstergo usually gets to them first. Having to decrypt them on the spot puts us at a bit of a disadvantage. What we've gathered from working with them, these memories hold key information to- something,” Desmond goes on. “We don't know for sure what, but they're all related to each other. Eerily so.”

“And let me guess, your Clay could decrypt them in seconds,” Clay says sarcastically. “And I have no fucking idea what's going on.”

“Kaczmarek could move them,” Desmond corrects. “He was still playing with the last shard we found when he decided Abstergo was more precedent. Honestly, I don't know what he found if anything. It was a lot of guesswork he hadn't compiled in any readable format yet.”

“Even better,” Clay murmurs. “And when I inevitably can't ‘move’ this shard?”

“Inconsequential,” Desmond assures. “We've lost shards before. One more isn't going to hurt.” That's not how William sounded about the matter.

“So why bother?” Clay asks. Desmond doesn't say anything. Obviously he doesn't want to admit it was because he had been told to. “Right. Don't question superiors.”

“If we're lucky, you can figure it out, too,” Desmond goes on instead. “Or maybe our Kaczmarek will rear his head long enough to help out.” Clay snorts a laugh. If only it were that easy. “Either way, try not to bleed into your helmet, okay? I don't want you to drown and these things don't exactly absorb fluid.”

“A poetic death,” Clay answers. “Too flowery for me.” Desmond snorts his own laugh. They ride in quiet for a while, Clay watching the scenery pass by uneventfully as they duck and dodge through traffic probably faster than legally desired. It's a smooth ride, though, so Clay doesn't inherently mind. He thinks- trying his best to do as he was told and not bleed and revert what help Desmond gave him.

“These shards are probably linked to the First Civ,” Clay comments off handedly. “They've been known to interfere with technology in similar manners and they'd have a reason to give you these ‘hints’. I won't delve into it for obvious reasons, but it's a safe bet we want to stay away from them.”

“It's a little late for that,” Desmond murmurs back. “At any rate, keeping Abstergo from getting anymore is crucial.”

“You don't even know what the point of them is,” Clay answers irritably. “For all you know, these are glitches in the matrix and Abstergo is wasting their time and resources on them.”

“But we do not know,” Desmond says. “Only assume.” Clay sneers. Desmond may be ‘in the loop’ of The Mentor if him being sent on so many special missions is any indication but he obviously doesn't get the full story. William is insistent on this for a reason and while Clay knows from personal experience William’s thought process goes about as far as arms reach and he is more interested in keeping a foot ahead of Abstergo than anything else, but this feels- nefarious.

And not just because Clay doesn't like William.

Which he doesn't.

This close, Clay can feel Desmond’s heart against his chest, even and calm despite riding fast and hazardous across Italy. He has no reason to be concerned, he's trained to a T, to be perfect in his reactions, in his decision making, his awareness. He can stop on a dime but he won't because there's a thousand better options and he has the skill to execute them perfectly.

His heart beat is lulling.

“Shit,” Desmond’s voice makes him reorient himself. Maybe he does have a sleeping problem. It's far too easy for him to close his eyes and time to pass without his knowledge. It's less noticeable when he's sitting at a computer. “Abstergo wasn't supposed to have known about this yet. Rebecca, what happened?”

Clay doesn't know where they are, he wouldn't have anyways, but Desmond has parked them sideways on a hill overlooking what looks you be a busy tourist trap. It's darker than when they left, the dimming sun leaving little store lights and fancy street lamps to light the street. Initially, it's easy to not think Abstergo is here but a closer look settles on some uniformed men that definitely aren't local mall cops.

“Checking,” Rebecca assures. Blearily, Clay blinks and the semi-distant figures vaguely glow with intention. His eagle vision isn't crystal clear, not by a long shot, and it's not always right, either. Using his sight in actual real life scenarios lacks the clarity of using it within the animus memories anyways. The fact that everyone in the vicinity is violent red seems like a glaring mistake, though. “Uh, I dunno Des. Looks like they might have stumbled onto the site by accident.”

“Great,” Desmond says sarcastically. “Where's the shard?”

“Intel says it's located on a public computer in the library,” Shaun informs. Distractingly, Desmond beams a faded gold. Clay blinks it away. Even after he does, though, a startlingly bright gold target beams from within the crowd, far brighter than Clay’s vision has ever given him.

“I can see the site overseer,” Desmond comments. Clay can only watch curiously as several more bright red targets begin to light up across the crowd. “Got it.”

“Clay, you can't-?” Rebecca asks and after an awkward moment of silence continues, “you don't know what to do with the shard, do you?”

“Nope,” Clay answers. Desmond takes them in closer, more so than Clay is comfortable with, honestly. Still, he doesn't sense them being seen just yet.

“What? That would have been nice to know before you got there!” Shaun barks. “You can't do this with Abstergo all over the bloody place!”

“Give me a timer,” Desmond instructs. “Five minutes.” Clay distinctly doesn't like the numbers, small and mostly unobtrusive, that appear inside his helmet. Clever. Is Desmond sharing his own eagle vision through the helmet then? That seems- advanced but from what he knows, this Brotherhood _is_.

Desmond stops way too close to the gathering of red figures than Clay likes. When he dismounts his bike, Clay having to get off with him, the bright glow of figures fades severely back to Clay’s own levels with their lack of touch. Strange. He'd be more worried about this if Desmond wasn't checking to make sure his hand gun is loaded and the safety off, however.

“Uh, what are we doing?” Clay dares ask, knowing fully well he's going to get a bullshit answer. Desmond turns to him. He pauses for a moment.

“Kaczmarek,” he says. “If we both want to pull this off without being seriously injured or dying, you need to do what you need to do.”

_‘Turns out, you understood that the best way to keep me safe was to do your job correctly.’_

“Whoa, wait a minute,” Clay urges as Desmond is already fucking walking away from him. Clay has to pull back just so the guards won't see him. Desmond, however, moves past them without so much as tipping them off. Clay isn't sure if everyone here really is Abstergo and his sight is actually telling him the truth or if his dumb brain just thinks everyone is out to get him and as such, everyone's intentions towards him are the absolute worst. No one takes a second look at Desmond.

“ _Shit_ , I don't _know_ what I'm supposed to be doing,” Clay hisses irritably. The timer is already counting down, doing little more for him than making him increasingly anxious about whatever the fuck is happening.

“Get to the library, Clay,” Rebecca explains, firm but calm. “We'll figure it out from there, I guess.” Sure, he'll just move through a whole crowd of Abstergo agents to get to the room _full_ of Abstergo agents to do fuck if he knows. Hastily, he moves in the opposite direction and pulls himself up onto a building to carefully look over the streets. He wants to say this body is in better shape than his own one was but considering the condition he's in at the moment, he honestly can't tell. His arms scream at him when he climbs and he ignores it.

Desmond still faintly glows, sticking out of the crowd easily.

So does the other glaring gold target, the overseer, that Clay is pretty sure Desmond put there for him; intentionally or otherwise.

They meet and everything happens fast. Suddenly there's just one gold target, Desmond, and the overseer lay dead in a crowd that, sure enough, actually are just all Abstergo. Desmond moving seamlessly through a bunch of people who want him dead more than they want most assassins dead is a lot less surprising now considering what Clay knows about this Desmond. Of course, they notice him now.

In an instant, or at least in the time required to fire six shots in immediate succession, Desmond has dropped what Clay assumes were the red targets he had marked. The rest of them swarm to his location all at once.

“Assassin!”

“Go! Clay! Go move!” Rebecca yelps and Clay hastily does as instructed. He still has no idea what he's doing but he is doing. Urgently, he hurries across the rooftops, above the commotion happening in the street, and vaguely in the direction he assumes the library would be in. Distracted by the Big Bad Master Assassin, no one notices him. “There! Library!”

‘There’ she says. Clay seems half a dozen buildings and it is suddenly a lot darker than he really took into consideration. Fortunately, dim as it is, his sight colours the necessary building in gold and he makes his way too it as quick as he can manage. Despite the chaos stirred up, a pair of guards are unshaken from their position at the door. Wow those are guns. Those are definitely modern day semi automatic death machines and, in retrospect, what Ezio dealt with in his memories seems more like a kiddie show.

“Alright, thanks for the, you know, preparing me for this,” Clay says sarcastically. “I couldn't get, like, my blade back or something? Or a gun. Desmond has a gun.”

“We've seen what you do with sharp things, Clay,” Shaun assures.

“I know you think that was funny and clever, haha I tried to kill myself, but I will strangle you with my bare hands,” Clay replies.

“Library!” Rebecca barks at him.

“I'm going!” Clay says loudly. He flexes his fingers. His arms definitely aren't healed enough for this which, he supposes, makes sense as to why they didn't give him his hidden blade back; he probably wouldn't be able to disengage it. Choices are limited, though. Here goes nothing.

Clay drops down on one of the guards suddenly, quickly yanking his arm around the man’s throat and yanking him backwards to put him off balance before grabbing the back of his shirt. His buddy immediately fires upon both of them, unsurprisingly Clay guesses, hastily killing one of the two guards for him. It's a good thing is guy was wearing a vest- hey, it protected Clay. With a shove, Clay pushes the newly dead body forward, knocking over the other guard with the dead weight and as soon as he's on the floor, Clay puts his entire weight on the man’s throat until he doesn't glow anymore.

He hears Rebecca audibly sigh in relief.

“Oh, you have training,” she says. Again, something they probably should have checked before getting this far. Clay hurriedly slips into the building before someone else sees him and fortunately, it looks like anyone here has evacuated under the presence of an assassin. He can still hear Desmond dealing with the crowd in the distance, a lot of thumping and gunshots and yelling, but he tries not to focus on it.

Abstergo has done all the hard work already, leaving Clay little more than to approach the isolated computer and plop himself down in front of it. Irritably, he pushes his visor up to properly see and quickly tries to figure out what he should be doing. Two minutes. What happens at the end of that five minutes, Clay isn't sure, but he has two minutes left.

“We're ready to receive on this end,” Rebecca assures. A quick look around suggests either Abstergo took their progress with them or they haven't made any, yet. He urgently, and mostly blindly, searches through the computer holding the shard in hopes to naturally just realise what the _absolute_ fuck he's _fucking_ doing.

“Can't you just copy it the old fashion way?” Clay asks impatiently.

“Believe it or not, we tried that already,” Shaun says. “For some reason, the code can't exist in its current state on anything besides its original container. Well, except the one Clay moved somehow and I don't think even he knows how he did that.”

“Great, shut up,” Clay scoffs.

“Glad to see your twos friendship extends beyond this reality,” Rebecca murmurs in amusement. “How can we help?”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Clay snaps back, more irritable. The longer he looks, the more he realises there's no way he can move this. There's no way he can even begin to _know_ what the other Clay did. One minute, more or less. Shit, why can't anyone in this reality tell him anything? Sure, part of it is because they just assume he knows shit he absolutely does not and the other part is because he's _probably_ a Cross-era sleeper agent bent on sewing chaos among their ranks with his ‘boyfriend if the Master Assassin’ touchy feely garbage but come on.

Arbitrarily, thank god, Clay realises he's not the other Clay but instead himself.

“I'm decoding it,” Clay alerts. “Get ready to type. I'm not exactly going to be able to repeat myself so get it right.”

“You- what?” Rebecca replies in clear confusion. “How are you going to-”

“With my mouth,” Clay answers curtly. “Are you fucking ready or not?”

“I- yeah, ready,” Rebecca assures. Clay quickly begins to read off the code.

-

At this point, he's less than shocked when he just wakes up places he definitely didn't go to sleep in. That being said, waking up on the back of Desmond’s motorcycle to the slightly more frantic heartbeat of Desmond is not the worst thing in the world. He tightens his grip briefly around Desmond’s waist and that rapid rhythm almost immediately settles back down. 

“Kaczmarek,” Desmond murmurs. “You're awake.” 

“Do I want to know what happened?” Clay asks. 

“Well, you deciphered the shard verbally like a fucking machine, unplugged the computer I'm guessing so Abstergo couldn't finish it, and then passed out,” Desmond informs. Clay has no idea where they are but the ride is far more leisurely than the one they had taken here. 

“Yeah, that's what I meant to do,” he assures. “Minus the passing out part.” 

“And you managed it all without bleeding all over the inside of your helmet,” Desmond praises sarcastically. Someone's a happy camper. 

“Lucy is checking out the memory now,” Rebecca says. 

“Not worried about her Bleeding?” Clay asks mildly.

“These shouldn't cause bleeding since they're isolated memories not ancestral,” Rebecca assures. “Plus, they're typically extremely limited.” 

“Looks like it's 1700’s era,” Shaun comments. “Somewhere in the southern North America. Aztec I'll tentatively guess.” Clay doesn't really care what's on it, honestly. He can say, with a very slim doubt, these ‘shards’ didn't exist in his own reality. Or, if they did, Abstergo has a lot of explaining to do. 

Desmond is quiet on the way back. 

It's not until they're back inside their safe house in actual lighting that Clay realises his bandages are an annoying colour red. He looks at his arms as they walk, irritated to think he's popped some of his stitches and will now have to deal with that. That being said, he's not sure what he expected at this point. He was in no condition to be free running in the first place. 

Clay can't get the helmet off fast enough, dropping it aside and hastily ruffling his hair in his hands before feeling his vaguely sweaty neck. He's not all that surprised to find the Rebecca here makes torture devices, too. Desmond sets his own aside with far more care and Clay gives him a mild look at being able to look otherwise completely put together still. There is something about Desmond, this one and his own, that makes the man just _effortlessly_ look good all the time. 

It is a short lived thought. 

Desmond shoves him against the wall, several degrees rougher than the last time he'd done so. This time, it actually startles Clay a little, already disoriented and honestly, he thought they had reached some kind of understanding between them. Obviously he was wrong. The blood staining Desmond’s clothes seems a lot more grotesque now. 

“You better have a damn good fucking reason why you can decode shards off the top of your fucking head, Kaczmarek,” Desmond snarls at him. Unsurprisingly, neither Rebecca or Shaun come to his aid, either. He's not sure why he would expect them to try to placate a dangerous master assassin like Desmond but his annoyance remains. 

“Get off of me,” Clay snaps back, shoving at Desmond roughly and making exactly zero ground. Desmond slams him into the wall again. Maybe Clay should have left his helmet on. 

“Because you know what I'm starting to think, Kaczmarek?” Desmond says dangerously. 

“Something fucking stupid?” Clay snarls. “ _Let go_.”

“I think Abstergo did a lot more to your head than read some fucking memories,” he growls. There it is. Clay knew this was coming. He _knew_ it. There was no way, at any point, they weren't going to think he was brainwashed. 

“I'm not another Cross,” Clay barks, grabbing the hands in his shirt and trying to push them away again with the exact same amount of success. He will say, Desmond is really good at this assassin thing. “I could decode the shard because it's written in the same code that the Animi from my reality uses, okay? After living in the fucking thing for who knows how fucking long, yeah, I think I can muster up enough brain process to read it.” 

Desmond loosens his grip but he doesn't let go. 

“Explain,” he demands curtly. 

“Let me _go,”_ Clay hisses back. This only leads to making Desmond push him harder against the wall, the previous looseness suddenly gone. 

“I will let you go when I know you're not a Templar husk, Kaczmarek,” he warns. The brutal efficiency that Desmond kills Templars with, it's familiar isn't it? “The shards are in animus code?” 

“Yes,” Clay grits out, momentarily submitting to this painful hold. Not that he has much of a choice. “The code for the animus in this reality is different. Developed different probably thanks to your me.” This gets him a slight withdraw. 

“You ‘lived’ in an animus, what does that mean?” Desmond continues. 

“‘AI Clay’,” Clay answers sarcastically. “In the reality I'm from, I _did_ kill myself while infiltrating Abstergo. This ‘consciousness’ that pushed out your Clay? It's not even _real_ , Desmond. It's just some fucked up approximation of what the alive me was like corrupted by the animus trying to delete me every chance it got and overloaded with so much pointless, _stupid_ information, there's literally _compressed_ data in my own head.” 

Desmond lets him go. 

He looks at the animus. 

“No,” Clay laughs. “No, no. I'm _not_ going back in that thing. Not- I can't. I can't-”

“Kaczmarek is _literally_ on that hard drive, isn't he?” Desmond asks. There's something fragile about his voice Clay hates with a passion. “That's what you meant when you said he left something behind. Kaczmarek- get her out of there.” And suddenly it's gone and he's back to cold and commandeering. 

“Desmond,” Rebecca murmurs unsurely. Clay grabs Desmond’s arm before he can get too far away, immediately getting pushed back into the wall hard for his effort. This time, however, it is less intentional. Desmond sighs tensely, making a small motion with his hand like he's making sure Clay is going to be alright before moving away again. 

“We need that cypher,” Desmond says firmly. “If it's hidden in Ezio Auditore’s memories, then I'm going to find them.” 

“Desmond, you can't-” Rebecca urges. While Clay is sure it's not a good reason, he isn't too interested in finding out first hand why The Mentor doesn't want Desmond reliving lives- or Bleeding, more likely. 

“Don't,” Clay says sharply. “I'm almost done, I swear. I already put all this work into cracking it manually, you can wait another fucking day.” Desmond clenches his jaw. Neither Rebecca or Shaun make any kind of movement to pull Lucy from her viewing of the shard and hopefully, Clay can count of them to physically help him keep Desmond out of the animus. It's a lot to hope for. 

“Fine,” Desmond finally answers tensely. “One day.” 

“ _Shit_ , you can't hold me to the ‘day’ thing,” Clay urges quickly. “It's a turn of phrase.” 

“If that code isn't cracked in the next twenty four hours, I'm dealing with this myself,” Desmond assures him, cold and steady. It's becoming fairly obvious that however Desmond is dealing with this situation probably isn't exactly how William would have preferred. ‘Kaczmarek’ is as much of a liability as he is an asset to them. 

He sees why William wasn't happy. 

Clay does what he can to finish decoding the hard drive. The closer he gets, the more he's honestly not sure what happens next. 


	4. Resynch

For a brief moment as Desmond comes back out of his office, straightening his cuffs as he does, Clay is unsure of whether he's awake or not. That would be far too easy, though. He sways, trying to force his brain to focus on their work but it's too late for that.

“Kaczmarek?” Desmond says wearily, obviously having noticed Clay struggling to remember how to use a chair correctly. The blurriness around his vision is all too familiar, layering over reality in a truly disorientating way. Desmond is rushing to his side suddenly and Clay hears a crowd of people in the distance.

“Well?”

Great, he _is_ Bleeding through himself. Fantastic.

“You look good,” Clay breathes. His brain reels at the sudden change of location, at the sudden realisation that he's somewhere else and he has no idea what's going on. On the brightside, unlike in the animus, Clay is sort of just along for the ride. The animus offers an ‘approximation’; Bleeds are more definitive.

“Cool cause I feel horrible,” Desmond replies, again trying to irritably fix the cuffs of his pressed suit to lay better over his hidden blades. He does look really good in the plain black suit, though. “This thing feels like someone ironed it on me.”

“That's how tailored suits work,” Clay assures. Desmond frowns. They steal a kiss, something Clay feels is far more heated than strictly appropriate at the moment and likely is from seeing Desmond in a fancy suit. It's cut short by Shaun laughing.

“Shut up,” Rebecca snaps. “I hate this. I look- I look awful!” Clay turns enough to see Rebecca emerge in similar formal attire and makeup he knows for a fact she did not do herself. She looks fine, honestly, even if she doesn't look like herself- which is kind of the point. “We should have let Clay do it. This is awful.”

“Gay dates aren't exactly ‘discreet’,” Desmond comments in amusement. Clay lifts the edge of Rebecca’s dress to peer underneath, laughing when he finds her, incredibly, wearing heels and quickly moving back before she can punch him.

“Clay can wear a dress,” Rebecca assures. “Hell, he'd probably look better in one.”

“Hey, if anyone is wearing a dress, it's Desmond. He's the power bottom here,” Clay insists.

“That's- sexist? I think?” Desmond says with an arched brow.

“Look at it this way, you'd be more comfortable,” Rebecca agrees. “And give Clay a hard on.”

“Already working on the second,” Clay assures.

“You know, believe it or not, the less I know about your two’s sex life, the happier I am just in general,” Shaun promises with a hand gestures that assures they can stop this conversation. Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for Clay, the conversation is halted by William stepping out, dressed in a similar suit to Desmond. Immediately, Clay is aware that this Bleed is surely happening for a reason. He can't just- Bleed through _himself_ for no reason. Something in the other Clay’s memories obviously triggered this and he needs to focus to find out why.

What is the other Clay trying to remember?

“Good, we're all ready,” William comments plainly. “Let's go.”

“What? Couldn't score yourself a hot date?” Clay asks scathingly.

“Rebecca is my date,” William replies without missing a beat and without entertaining Clay’s tone in the least. Aggravating cunt.

“Cradle robber, shoulda known, Bill,” Clay says. William doesn't respond to this- also irritatingly familiar. He sees where Desmond gets it. They straighten their cuffs in a similar manner.

“We aren't expecting any resistance,” William explains. “Relatively unguarded and as far as we know, he's unaware that the Brotherhood knows he's Abstergo. Rebecca and I will run distraction while Desmond makes his way to the balcony. The target should make his way there naturally.”

“Get to keep your hands clean again, eh Rebecca?” Clay says, nudging her faintly. She gives him a less than amused look. “Don't worry, that's the whole reason William had a kid.”

“Quiet time,” Desmond says, taking Clay's arms as if they were dates for this party crash. “If you're good, I'll take you for ice cream.” It's a joke, of course, regardless of Desmond’s flat tone but Clay hums contently in reply as Desmond leads the way out of whatever hideout they've prepped in.

“Food and temperature play, hot,” he replies. Shaun makes an unhappy noise behind them. Their ‘team’ climbs into the waiting van, ready in advance with all their equipment. Unsurprisingly, Shaun drives while the rest of them hang out in the back. Rebecca busies herself with her phone, William painstakingly assures his tie is properly tied, and he and Desmond sit together in the opposite corner sweetly kissing.

“Think I could keep you in a suit long enough for a proper fancy date?” Desmond asks teasingly.

“Absolutely not,” Clay replies. This is- weird, honestly. He wasn't sure what he expected from a relationship between this Clay and Desmond but he wouldn't have assumed this sort of tenderness. More so, where people can visibly see. The heat from earlier is entirely gone, exchanged for whatever this is.

“Even if I asked nicely?” Desmond urges.

“If I can wear a dress, maybe,” Clay says.

“Crossdressing, hot,” Desmond murmurs with a grin.

“Oh thank god we're here,” Shaun says in exasperation. The van stops and reluctantly, he and Desmond part. Desmond hops out the back and he gives Rebecca and her heels a help down. The look William gives him as he passes by is neutral, of course, but Clay can read the animosity in it. It's a mutual dislike.

Clay can hear the crowd in the distance.

He closes the back of the van as Shaun climbs between the seats to join him in front of their equipment. Personally, he doesn’t know what any of this does but the other Clay obviously does if how he goes about pressing buttons and turning knobs is any indication. Both he and Shaun don their headsets.

“I was kidding about Desmond, by the way,” Clay mentions and Shaun looks at him curiously. “He's a bossy switch so whenever you're ready to, like, come out as bi and let Desmond fuck you into next year-”

“Oh my god,” Shaun says loud enough to stop him. “Every conversation with you is a bloody nightmare.”

“Offer stands,” Clay assures. “Rebecca would probably think it's hot.” Shaun shakes his head, obviously deciding not to fuel this conversation anymore, and instead turns his attention to their assassins. He flips on their mics.

“ _Alright_ , audio test. Desmond, clear your throat if you can hear me.” Desmond clears his throat. “Rebecca, a yawn if you will.” Rebecca yawns. “William, how ‘bout a little laugh for us?”

“Funny,” William replies, unamused.

“Close enough,” Shaun assures. “Video feed is- blurry but up.” Several screens display the normal feeds, of course, one for each of their body cams. The others instead seem to be hacked into from any other source available. This definitely looks like Abstergo level tech. Between him and Desmond, it looks like the Brotherhood really was getting along pretty well.

“Give us a smile,” Clay says and he watches the cameras as they mutely grin in response. A few of the feeds are a little slow but nothing to worry about. “We're primed. Desmond, your bike is out back, can't miss it. Bill, have you tried the bus?”

“There's a car waiting for you and Rebecca out front,” Shaun promises. As they approach the entrance of the party, Rebecca stays hung on William’s arm like a proper date while Desmond carries on a couple steps behind. William offers up the invitation for he and his ‘date’ and shortly after, Desmond provides his own. They enter the party without trouble.

“Target is on his way,” Clay alerts. “We'll keep you updated.” The three of them mingle quietly among the guests, maintaining vague but believably dull cover stories to not draw attention to themselves. Clay can't tell for sure, he doesn't know this reality, but a lot of these people look like Templar agents. Not all of them, but a large majority.

“Desmond,” William says quietly. “We need to talk.”

Clay and Shaun exchange glances.

“Now?” Desmond asks shortly. William politely gestures Rebecca to hold her own for a moment and reluctantly, Desmond follows his father away from the busy crowd of people and into a relatively quiet room. He turns his mic off and after a moment, so does Desmond. It's too dark and they're too close for their cameras to matter.

Shaun nods at him affirmatively and Clay clicks a switch.

“Is there a reason we didn't have this talk before we left?” Desmond asks shortly. He must be wearing another mic or perhaps they just turned it back on remotely. Regardless of the reason, only Desmond’s seems to work now. They listen on carefully.

“Yes,” William says sternly. “There is. Desmond, the CEO’s wife can not leave here.” That wasn't in the mission description.

“She didn't do anything,” Desmond argues, naturally. “She doesn't even know about Abstergo, our intel confirmed it.”

“I'm not _asking_ you,” William says.

“No, you're telling me to kill an innocent woman,” Desmond replies, no less pleased. “I'm not going to do it, William. _You_ do it.”

“I am your father and you _will_ listen to me, Desmond,” William sneers. There it is. Clay knows exactly what triggered this Bleed now, albeit delayed. So Desmond has a ‘soft’ spot for his father after all. Or, more likely, he's absolutely terrified because he grew up with a ‘mentor’ and _not_ a fucking father. “She has to go.” A moment of silence passes.

“Whatever,” Desmond finally replies. “You're the boss.” Irritably he leaves the room and Clay switches the mic off again. Shaun sighs.

“We don't know there's not a good reason,” he murmurs. “Maybe he knows something he can't share with us right now.”

“I don't fucking care, Shaun,” Clay snaps back. “That's not the fucking point.” Shaun purses his lips unhappily but he doesn't argue, just reluctantly nods in agreement. “Just- _shit_ , we can't keep her away from here without tipping off William.”

“If Rebecca tries to intervene, it'll be suspicious but she could play it off,” Shaun murmurs. “Protect the innocent and all that.”

“Rebecca can't stop Desmond,” Clay says flatly.

“Yeah,” Shaun sighs back. “We would have to catch and kill the CEO before he arrives. Somehow I don't think that's going to go over well.”

“Forget it,” Clay scoffs, turning their audio back on. The Brotherhood doing questionable things isn't new. Knowing this Brotherhood isn't any different isn't shocking. This clearly isn't the first time, either. Desmond seems fairly into not blindly obeying his father, or The Mentor for that matter, so the fact that he does this without further questions is suspicious, Clay will admit.

Maybe this memory is trying to show him something else.

The party continues without further interruption. Their target arrives with his dead to rights wife attached and Desmond easily makes his way to the upper floor room without a problem. He searches the room, finds nothing particularly interesting, and proceeds to hide himself away for the time being. Clay taps his fingers angrily, knowing full well there's nothing he can do about what's going to happen. Shaun sits awkwardly aside.

“Target is making his way up,” Rebecca alerts. Again, he and Shaun exchange a quiet look. If there was any reason for William and Rebecca to be here, Clay has no idea what it is. Desmond is perfectly competent in fulfilling a task like this alone. Perhaps William thought Desmond would change his mind if given too ample of a heads up.

All they can do is watch. The target doesn't notice Desmond at all, nor his wife. They talk and laugh a bit, simply enjoying one another's company, and Desmond awaits a moment to strike. It comes sooner than later, fireworks start popping off outside and the wife moves to the balcony to watch while her husband pops a bottle of champagne.

Desmond moves, painfully silent even with the loudness around him. The target is dead without ever knowing Desmond was even there, gently laid back on the chair as if he's just stopped for a rest.

“Excellent, now make a quick escape and we can all go for ice cream,” Shaun assures, trying to hide his nervousness. Desmond moves towards the balcony. “Uh, Des, pretty sure the other way is clear. Maybe just go that way.” Clay crosses his arms sourly as Desmond completely ignores any ‘helpful’ advice and just the same, she dies never knowing there was a threat. Desmond lays her carefully on the floor before making his leave.

“She wasn't a target, Desmond,” Clay says irritably. Desmond doesn't say anything. “You just killed an innocent woman. You _know_ she didn't know anything about this. What, you think her husband’s death would have spurred her on? She was a fucking trophy wife!”

“Kaczmarek, be quiet,” William replies instead. As if that's ever worked. They all make their respective escape routes, the partying continuing without anyone the wiser and Shaun scrubbing their presence from the cameras as they go.

“What happened to ‘still thy blade from innocent flesh’?” Clay asks sarcastically. “She wasn't even in the way! She never even saw you! You went out of your way to kill her! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“It would be best if you hold your tongue, Kaczmarek,” William warns.

“I'll-” Shaun turns their mic off. “Give you something to fucking hold, you old bitch! Why don't you get your own hands dirty for fucking once! Oh, that's right, you're a miserable assassin compared to the son you had _exclusively_ to fuck up his life and his head! Number one dad, everyone! Congratu-fucking-lations!”

“The feral cat knows how to be quiet after all,” William murmurs. Clay kicks the side of the van hard enough to leave a dent in it- even at the price of his foot hurting immediately after. The whole van rocks for a second afterward as Clay angrily tries to settle himself.

“Are you alright?” Shaun asks. Clay barks a laugh.

“What do you fucking think?” he snaps back before looking over his shoulder at the screens again, everyone now far away from any suspicion. “Make a recording of that ‘talk’. Store it with the rest.”

“Already have,” Shaun assures. “We should go.”

“Whatever,” Clay scoffs back. “Mission done, I fucking guess.”

‘The rest’?

-

As always, that was unpleasant. Clay thought he was beyond Bleeding but at this point, he honestly shouldn't be surprised. Can it still be considered ‘Bleeding’ if it's not ancestral but another version of himself? He sits up slowly, looking around to see where he's been moved to. Not far, of course, into Desmond’s room of all things.

“You’re awake,” Lucy comments and Clay looks at her mildly. He rubs his arms, briefly examining the fresh bandages and his cleaned hands.

“How long have I been out?” Clay asks.

“Couple hours,” Lucy replies easily. He frowns.

“Fucking fantastic,” Clay scoffs as he throws his legs over the edge of the bed and tries to get his bearings back for being upright again. It’s harder than he thought it would be but he doesn’t need to get very far. “How long do I have?”

“For what?” Lucy questions curiously. Clay gives her an aggravated look.

“Before Desmond does something fucking stupid for his stupid fucking boyfriend,” he snaps.

“The hard drive,” she murmurs thoughtfully, looking him over again. Clay bites back another sour reply only because she continues before he can format one correctly. “You finished it, Clay. Rebecca is compiling it now to move to the animus.”

He did? Not that not remembering stuff is uncommon right now, but he definitely doesn’t remember that before he started Bleeding. There’s no way he could have finished it while he was Bleeding, right? Clay feels like he should be able to breathe easier now but it doesn’t come. This is mostly because he’s sure that regardless of what’s actually on that hard drive, he’s going to face the consequences for it. The bad consequences.

Clay glances at Lucy again, leaned on the doorframe to Desmond’s room, watching him quietly.

“What, are you on babysitting duty, now?” he asks scathingly.

“I just came to check on you,” she assures.

“Don’t,” Clay replies.

“Are you still convinced I’m a Templar?” Lucy questions though now, she seems less aggravated by the idea. Perhaps she’s finally come around to the idea that he isn’t her Kaczmarek, either.

“Have you done anything to prove me wrong? No? Then yes,” Clay says mildly. She muses on it briefly.

“You’re not exactly without suspicion yourself, you know,” she comments.

“Misery loves company,” he answers. “I don’t have to have a heart to heart with you now, too, do I?”

“I was more curious about your reality’s version of me, actually,” Lucy admits. “It sounds like you two didn’t, uh, exactly get along.”

“ _Shocker_ ,” Clay says sarcastically. “What do you want me to say? I infiltrated Abstergo with William assuring me she’d help me get out when the time came, she forced me back into the animus for reasons, in retrospect, that I don’t fully know the intention of anymore, then I found out she had betrayed us and I killed myself. Good enough for you?”

“You don’t know why she betrayed the Brotherhood?” she asks. Clay looks at her halfly, a discreet sweep that, as always, marks her a friendly blue. His vision isn’t always right, though.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “Or, I don’t know _now_. I did, I think. Probably compressed it away with the rest of the shit I didn’t want to have to deal with. Templars are disgusting sweet when they lie and Lucy had never tasted sugar in her life, I guess.” Lucy’s quiet for a couple minutes, thinking and watching as Clay checks under his bandages to see how his wounds are coming along. Time passes in weird ribbons for him, like a tape that won’t stay wound. The state of his injuries says it’s been a few days, week and a half tops, since Abstergo.

Distantly, he remembers eating and pill taking and having conversations with little meaning or weight, but he can’t accurately pinpoint when any of that happened. All he can remember is Rebecca’s computer and key conversations and blood mostly.

It makes him irrationally concerned that he’s in the animus still, trapped in his own mind or in some built up scenario or maybe just his own personal hell. Everything’s so real, though, like the animus never was.

“Not to add fuel to your distrust,” Lucy says and Clay looks back at her. “But Kaczmarek, _our_ Clay, was probably the reason I didn’t.” In a way, no, this doesn’t help his violent distrust of her or her intentions but at the same time, Kaczmarek was so- something about the way this Kaczmarek, mean and sour and rude like Clay himself is, was rectifying for this reality. Desmond made the difference in the Brotherhood, in Kaczmarek himself, but beyond that, Kaczmarek seemed to be the thing preventing Desmond and therefore everything Desmond stands for from descending into a whole different kind of blood bath.

“Before I realised he and Desmond were a thing-” she says and then scoffs quietly, amused and bitter in a way Clay inherently reads as ‘the good ones are always gay’. She decides not to follow this line of thought. “Kaczmarek was the first real contact I had with the Brotherhood since I was seventeen. Believe it or not, hearing from him that the Brotherhood was questionable, if not down right manipulative, in their methods was pretty-”

“Cathartic?” Clay cuts in.

“Sobering,” Lucy replies. Another moment of silent, shorter than the last. “Vidic had a way of making the assassin’s sound too good to be true and in response, make Abstergo sound like they were the more reasonable choice. Kaczmarek- he believed in the Brotherhood wholeheartedly, I know that. When it came down to it, I think he’d do anything for them. The only thing he believed in more was Desmond, obviously. He’d burn the world and everything in it for Desmond. Himself included.”

And Clay laughs, the solar flare present in his mind and how painfully close she is to the truth of this Clay, and that one, and probably more than they’d never know.

“Kaczmarek didn’t fill me in on a lot of what he was doing. We discussed things to the extent we could, but it was both safer I didn’t know what he was doing and he didn’t have near the patience to both figure out what was happening and try to explain it on the same breath,” she says. “I trusted him and, regardless of what you believe or what your Lucy did, I did everything I could to help him. He trusted me to make sure he got out of there alive.”

“A misplaced trust, obviously,” Clay scoffs scathingly. “Because I’m here and he isn’t.”

“Yeah,” Lucy murmurs but it’s thoughtful and loaded. “That’s something I’ve been thinking about. Why you’re here and he isn’t.”

“Join the club, detective,” Clay answers sarcastically.

“You’re under the impression that your ‘consciousness’ or whatever, pushed out Kaczmarek,” she says. “You don’t know Kaczmarek.” Clay doesn’t know what she expects him to say to that, if anything honestly. He _doesn’t_ know Kaczmarek except that he’s some alternate reality version of him with a much better life. It turns out she doesn’t expect a response from him because she leaves without further comment, intentionally leaving him to consider what she’s said.

Regrettably, she makes a point.

Could Kaczmarek have brought him here and if he did, how and why?

The irony he mostly focuses on, however, is this Lucy having an unrequited crush on Kaczmarek and he, very briefly, having an unrequited crush on his Lucy. In both situations, that seems to be for the better, however.

He changes his shirt, more bothered by someone else’s blood being on him than his own, and strays out of the bedroom. Sure enough, Rebecca is deeply invested in her work and Desmond sits a fair pace away, patiently waiting. Or impatiently. It’s hard to tell. Lucy seems to have moved on to bothering Shaun about the shard memories.

Having more or less completed the only reason he’s still here, Clay isn’t quite sure what to do with himself besides wait. Whatever Kaczmarek left behind will determine what happens next and that’s only if he left anything behind- which itself also determines something far worse. He plops himself down on the couch and after a moment, Desmond gets up and comes to join him.

“Are you going to harass me again?” Clay asks mildly as Desmond makes himself far too openly comfortable on the other end of the couch. His casualness is both distinctly forced, the ‘relaxed’ state of an assassin clearly on edge, and distinctly Desmond, familiar gestures that link what few similarities they have.

“Good work,” Desmond compliments in lieu of, say, an apology. “On the shard and the hard drive. Hopefully you’re right and whatever our Kaczmarek left behind will answer a lot of our questions.”

“I’m not going in the animus,” Clay reminds him. “Especially after you get Kaczmarek uploaded to it. I have no idea what that thing will do to my head.” He has no idea the extent to which he’s compressed memories in his own brain. Not to mention literally everything else.

“We’ll deal with that when we get there,” Desmond replies. This is not that answer Clay was looking for, obviously.

“If you try to force me into the animus, I will kill myself,” Clay assures. Once again, to his benefit, Desmond doesn’t react particularly off guard.

“Noted,” is all he says. Also distinctly not that answer, or reaction, Clay wanted. It’s pointless to make a further issue about it at the moment.

“I assume you’ll want to go after the Apple after this, regardless of what you find?” Clay asks. Desmond taps his fingers but it’s far from thoughtful, just meticulous and vaguely annoyed.

“Maybe,” he answers vaguely. “The Apple is not our primary concern and if it’s safer where it is, we leave it.”

“What _is_ your ‘primary’ concern, then?” Clay bites. “Abstergo isn’t exactly the same threat it is in my reality. You tear through them like paper. What exactly is stopping you from cutting them out all together- aside from your ‘humans are good’ or whatever speech.”

“I’m one man, Kaczmarek,” Desmond scoffs back.

“I’ve seen ‘one man’ do a lot of things,” Clay assures fleetingly. Desmond, for whatever reason, laughs a little.

“Our primary concern right now is recovering the data our Kaczmarek gathered,” he says. “And Kaczmarek himself if possible. Beyond that- the solar flare-”

“You haven’t mentioned that to Bill, either,” Clay points out.

“No,” Desmond agrees. “I don’t know if you’re telling the truth and you don’t know if that’s relative to this ‘reality’. I don’t think either of us know if you’re of clear mind, either.” That’s- alright, that’s fair. Clay doesn’t like to think about it that way, but that’s totally fair.

“But you think it’s a possibility,” Clay says, more of a matter-of-fact. Desmond nods. “You need the Apple for that, you know. You need-”

“Don’t,” Desmond says harshly. “You’re going to start bleeding again. Whatever we do next is dependent entirely on what our Kaczmarek left behind.” Clay was never expecting a clear cut answer, not from Desmond or anyone else around here. He glances at Rebecca, then Shaun and Lucy, before tilting his head back to stare at the bland concrete ceiling.

“You Bled earlier,” Desmond comments out of nowhere.

“No shit, I shouldn’t have been fucking climbing buildings so soon,” Clay replies irritably.

“You Bled memories, Kaczmarek,” he clarifies, something Clay already knew and was intentionally avoiding. “Whose.”

“Ezio’s,” Clay says.

“Lying,” Desmond says.

“Kaczmarek’s,” Clay says. Desmond frowns. “You and Bill and Rebecca infiltrating a fancy party to kill a CEO and his innocent wife.” His frown grows firmer. “I take it that actually happened, then.”

“Have you Bled through Kaczmarek before?” he asks instead, as always avoiding anything he doesn’t want to answer.

“Why did you kill an innocent woman?” Clay asks back, more than pleased to give him a taste of his own annoying medicine. Desmond doesn’t say anything and neither does Clay. They opt to wait in silence instead.

Clay nods off.

“I think- yeah, I think it’s ready,” Rebecca announces. “Someone has to be inside to start it up.” Clay is awake immediately, getting to his feet only moments after Desmond as they all gather around to see the fruits of his labour. The familiar ‘black room’ loading up is strange to see from an outside view. Inside the animus, as a construct, Clay had always known what it was, where he was, but it seems so- different.

“I’ll do it,” Desmond assures without hesitation.

“And if it’s a trap?” Lucy replies, so quick there’s no way she wasn’t expecting this. “Clay should go in. It’s his programming and if he put anything malicious in it, it’s his consequences to bare.”

“You said it yourself, Clay’s mind is too fragile for the animus right now,” Rebecca argues. “We don’t know what it would do to him.”

“This isn’t a discussion,” Desmond says curtly. “I’m going in. If anything happens to me, shoot Kaczmarek.”

“Oh, cool, thanks for that vague statement of confidence,” Clay says, a vocal assurance to the fact that he is standing right here. “Like I said, the code wasn’t supposed to be decrypted manually. If anything goes wrong, it’s probably because Kaczmarek set it to refuse any ‘wrong’ way of decoding it. I doubt it will hurt you, though. A headache, _maybe_.”

It’s obvious Desmond doesn’t care about the consequences as he’s already getting into the chair before he even finishes. Hopefully this isn’t riddled with disappointment. As he settles in, Rebecca taps him in. Even now, it’s weird seeing someone else use this thing from the outside. He doesn’t like it.

They all turn to watch the outer interface.

Desmond loads in without a problem and Rebecca fires up the program. Clay tries not to hold his breath. He wouldn’t call himself anxious, or he would but that’s just a general state of being, but his stomach knots at the idea of seeing this version of himself, of seeing Desmond reunited with this fake, haphazardly put together construct.

Kaczmarek loads in.

Clay already has such a loose concept of what he looks like as a person that seeing himself, and more so seeing this reality’s version of himself, is more akin to seeing a stranger for the first time. He’s aware that it’s him, the features are all right, but seeing Kaczmarek from a third person view, his form not entirely capable of containing itself just yet, is jarring. It’s like looking at a picture of himself someone has edited both knowing something isn’t right but not being able to tell what it is.

It’s a horror story in motion.

But to Desmond, it’s a blessing.

He barely waits for Kaczmarek to form completely, to collect his bearings and realise what’s happened, before he’s running full sprint at him. Maybe it’s Clay’s own cynicism that expects this to go poorly but it doesn’t.

“Clay!” Desmond calls, immediately wrapping his arms around Kaczmarek’s neck and hugging him fondly. For a moment, Kaczmarek seems unsure of what’s happening or what to do. It connects so suddenly and within an instant, he’s hugging Desmond back so fiercely, there’s reasonable fear they might very well merge into one.

“Desmond,” Kaczmarek sighs back. “Desmond, Desmond, Desmond. You’re okay.”

“I’m so sorry, Clay,” Desmond breathes. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come get you sooner. _God_.” Kaczmarek laughs.

“You-” something changes. Kaczmarek’s pleasantness suddenly changes to realisation and then sourness. “You’re in the animus. Why- did you go into Ezio’s memories, Desmond? You can’t- you can’t start Bleeding, Desmond!” They seperate suddenly.

  
“No,” Desmond assures at once. “You didn’t die, Kaczmarek. At least, your body didn’t.” Kaczmarek looks up, glances around as if he’s looking for something, then to his hands and his body, still trying to figure itself out like Desmond’s very much isn’t. “There’s- it’s complicated.”

“Complicated,” Kaczmarek says. “Abstergo- did they mind wipe me?”

“We don’t know,” Desmond admits. “But, your body, _whoever_ is in your body now, he says he’s you- from another reality.” Kaczmarek laughs a hysterical laugh and Clay can’t help the mute one that slips out as well. What a sham. Everything about this is so sheerly unbelievable. Maybe Abstergo did put him here. Why he bleeds when he thinks about things they don’t want him to, why he’s convinced Lucy is a Templar to sew discord, why he knows how to properly process shards. That makes more sense than being from a different _fucking_ reality.

“He says he’s me,” Kaczmarek repeats. He disappears suddenly and Desmond cautiously looks around to find him before he reappears only slightly off center of where he had been. “He says he’s me, in my body, but he’s not me. _I’m_ me. I’m me? I’m- an approximation of me.”

“What happened in Abstergo, Kaczmarek?” Desmond asks, so quick to set his feelings aside to do what needs to be done. “You tried to kill yourself.” Kaczmarek hums to himself quietly, eyes distantly following something that either doesn’t exist or is imprinted in a code only he can see from his view.

“Whoa,” Rebecca says softly. “Desmond, I’m getting a lot of data here. Shaun, I need you to shelf some of it before it overloads.” Shaun nods in agreement, hastily moving to help deal with the issue.

“I’m me,” Kaczmarek repeats. “Then who’s he?”

“Stay with me, Clay,” Desmond urges softly. Kaczmarek looks at him, then around again, then disappears again. “Kaczmarek?”

“I didn’t try to kill myself,” Kaczmarek says as he appears again slightly further off. “I- Where’s Lucy?”

“She’s safe,” Desmond assures, carefully approaching him again. Kaczmarek turns to him, allows Desmond to carefully, calmly touch him as if this will ground the construct in place somehow. “ _You’re safe_.”

“The not me,” Kaczmarek replies. “I’ve been replaced with- me.”

“You haven’t been replaced,” Desmond says firmly. “Clay, I need to know what happened in Abstergo.” Kaczmarek’s image flickers as he tilts his head this way and that way in thought. Clay knows first hand that this new state he’s found himself in is a lot to deal with all at once. Time in the animus isn’t linear, it isn’t at all aside from the fact that when someone enters it, they become bubbled to a timeframe within it, so in all likelihood, his distracted nature is warranted. He’s going through an extreme amount of data; easily twice that of what Rebecca is picking up if not significantly more.

“What did the not me tell you?” Kaczmarek asks curiously.

“A lot of stuff,” Desmond assures. “Please Clay, I need you to focus.”

“Sorry, Desmond,” Kaczmarek murmurs. “I don’t remember.”

“You- don’t remember?” Desmond repeats.

“This version of me was updated almost a month ago now,” Kaczmarek says, his voice as distant as his eyes. “The Bleeding was getting too bad. I must have been unable to or made a conscious decision not to further update myself. Do you like the not me better than the this me?”

“What? No,” Desmond says fleetingly. “You know I was coming for you, right Kaczmarek?” Kaczmarek hums again, not necessarily in agreement but seemingly just to make noise. “ _Focus_.”

“I need my body back,” Kaczmarek says. Clay takes a step back instinctively away from the animus. “As much as I appreciate the not me for keeping it warm for me, I need it back.” That was the idea, right? Get Kaczmarek functioning without making Desmond go through Ezio’s memories and then graciously returning his body back. This idea suddenly makes Clay’s stomach knot up.

“I don’t think it’s that easy,” Desmond assures carefully. “There’s a lot going on and I don’t exactly know how you plan on doing that, anyways.”

“He goes into the animus, I come out,” Kaczmarek answers. “It’s that easy.”

“And what happens to him?” Desmond asks. A thoughtful pause.

“He stays in here?” Kaczmarek murmurs. Clay’s fear is perfectly valid, it turns out. “I don’t know, actually. I guess that depends on what, and more importantly who, he is. If he’s actually from another reality, that’s interesting. If he’s just an amalgamation of some fake version of me the Templars tried to replace me with- well that’s something else entirely.”

“Before we do anything, we need to find out exactly what’s going on, okay?” Desmond says. “We can’t just take a risk like that. We have no idea what might happen to you.”

“I suppose,” Kaczmarek admits. “I guess I’ll just- wait here while some fake me uses my body. Doesn’t seem fair but whatever. I uploaded my data to the system. I’ll help Rebecca go through it from in here? I should be able to do that.” He flickers to a new location again, still looking around thoughtfully like he’s searching for something.

“Clay,” Desmond murmurs, softer this time. Kaczmarek looks at him, finally really looks at him, and Desmond reaches out in his direction. “You know I was coming for you, right?” Silence. Kaczmarek smiles mutely.

“It was a stupid question so I ignored it,” he assures with a dismissive hand gesture. “Of course you were coming for me. What would you do without me?” Desmond laughs. “You’re just like, the dumbest bitch. I mean, I love you, but my point remains.”

“Then you trust I’m going to sort this all out, right?” he presses. Kaczmarek nods, back to looking around as his mind floats through his new existence.

“Yeah yeah, I know you missed me but can we save this touching reunion until after I have my body back?” he says. “We’ll figure everything out and have sloppy reunion sex later, okay?”

“Yeah, you’re Kaczmarek alright,” Desmond replies with a quiet, but affectionate and relieved sigh. “I- I’ll be back, okay? We’re going to look through this data and see what we can do about what’s going on. Now that you’re here-”

“Now that I’m up and running, I’m not going anywhere,” Kaczmarek assures. “This island is- oh, huh. Actually, this island is stable? I didn’t expect that.”

“The, uh, the other you told me about his problems with his animus so I made some corrections,” Rebecca interrupts. Kaczmarek looks up, unable to tell where he voice is coming from clearly but inherently searching skyward for it. “Hopefully you’ll have less issue.”

“‘His’ animus,” Kaczmarek repeats. “The other me.”

“I can’t tell if this is a looping issue or a Kaczmarek issue,” Rebecca admits.

“Both,” Clay murmurs. He’s having a similar thought process at the moment. “I’m gonna go-”

He meant ‘sit down’ but ‘to sleep’ is also acceptable.

As usual, Clay rouses in Desmond’s bed, this time with a killer headache likely sustained from toppling over. In addition to nosebleeds from thinking too hard, obviously overwhelming himself with literally anything is causing his entire brain to just power down on a moment's notice. He had assumed the nosebleeds were some outside force punishing him for thinking things they don't want him to but now he wonders if, in fact, his mind is just so used to being trapped in the animus it's having unintended effects on being in a human body again.

All he has to do is nothing ever again and he'll be fine.

“Hungry?” Lucy offers, handing him a dish without waiting for an answer. Clay frowns but he takes it and she sits on the bed to join him. “You passed out again.”

“I wouldn't have guessed,” Clay answers sarcastically. “I should just wear that fucking helmet all the time. The last thing I need is more of a reason for my brain to not function like it should.” Lucy hums in agreement. Clay exhales irritably, instead turning his energy to scarfing down food. For as much as he sleeps, supposedly, he rarely feels rested.

It's weird to think there's now, technically, three of him. Clay is without a doubt certain that Kaczmarek isn't dead or missing but rather suppressed in their now conjoined mind either by whatever force brought Clay here in the first place or by having been overwhelmed by the sheer amount of baggage he brought along. So it's him, Kaczmarek, and construct Kaczmarek.

“I hope you're happy with yourself,” Lucy comments, less angry and more of that just vague irritation.

“I absolutely am not,” Clay answers.

“Kaczmarek assured I was working for the Brotherhood with him only to immediately admit that because he doesn't know what happened those two weeks, there's a ‘reasonable amount of doubt’ to support your ‘claims’,” she says. No, this doesn't particularly make him happy. That's mostly because he doesn't care, though. Not trusting her has nothing to do with what she might have done in this reality but the fact that she is the kind of person to do it.

That and raging paranoia.

“You mentioned I was acting strange the last couple days I was in Abstergo,” Clay reminds her. “Not Bleeding strange otherwise you wouldn't have mentioned it.”

“I told Desmond the same thing; those two weeks that are missing, Kaczmarek’s Bleeding got substantially worse the first week, then plateaued for a couple days, then he started to act- weird. I don't know exactly how much if it was Bleeding, but he just started to not do _anything_ and when he did, it was usually to himself.” If that was Clay's consciousness beginning to root or if it was the struggle between him and Kaczmarek, he doesn't remember it. Not remembering things is really starting to piss him off.

“Kaczmarek never mentioned Juno?” Clay asks. Lucy shakes her head. Maybe this Clay really didn't ever meet Juno. He tries not to think about it. “He said he didn't try to kill himself. When did he start doing this, then?” He raises his arms mildly to his point.

“At least two months ago,” Lucy assures. “His underlying conditions made the Bleeding effects pretty volatile in the end.” There could be any number of reasons, rational or otherwise, for Kaczmarek to have done this so Clay doesn't try to backtrack that thought process. Even with Kaczmarek back, too many pieces are missing to accurately put together any kind of fathomable image.

He glances out the door.

“They’re still going through data,” she says.

“Anything useful?” Clay asks.

“There’s a lot of it,” Lucy replies. “And if there was, I don’t think either of us would know, ‘misery’.” Unfortunately, Lucy makes a lot of good points. With the ‘real’ Clay back in action and functionally more helpful than him, there’s no reason anyone here will tell him anything ever. At this point all he is to them is a compromised body warmer. He knows he has to give this body back to Kaczmarek eventually but at the price of being trapped in the animus again, he doesn’t think he can do it.

On the brightside, Desmond is smart enough to not do anything drastic until he’s sure of the consequences. At least when Kaczmarek is concerned, at least.

Clay is as happy to keep his distance from Kaczmarek and anything he’s doing as Kaczmarek is happy for him to. Aside from the occasional, arbitrary comment about ‘the not him’ and ‘his body back’, he doesn’t mention Clay much, either. It’s obvious that this construct version of Kaczmarek can’t quite wrap his code around the idea that he’s alive but also _alive_ ; his body exists but he’s not in it. Clay imagines it’s like a permanent feeling of dissociation mostly because he’s feeling the same.

He knows Kaczmarek isn’t him, or is him but not him, but there’s something violently jarring about a second him regardless of how not him he is.

Desmond, Rebecca, and Shaun spend almost all of their time now sorting through the sheer amount of data Kaczmarek had gathered, and therefore retained in his construct form, of his infiltration of Abstergo. Lucy is informed to the barest of extents, she had been there too after all, but there isn’t much Clay can or wants to do to help. He gets some actual sleep. 


	5. Disable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the comments! i really, really appreciate them all and your guys' theories makes me :eyes: i had a ton of fun writing this so i hope you guys are enjoying u wu

Rebecca and Shaun look tense, that’s obvious immediately. Clay rubs his head irritably as he wanders out of Rebecca’s room to the two of them intensely studying something on the animus. He doesn't hear Kaczmarek so maybe he's showing them something. They look at him almost immediately and without saying anything, Rebecca motions him to Desmond’s office. That’s bad news, isn’t it?

Clay isn’t sure what he’s done and in retrospect, knows he doesn’t have to have done anything at this point. Kaczmarek, whether a construct or not, is clearly the ‘alpha’ Clay here and they’re going to believe anything he says over what Clay says. If he's a Clay and if he wants his body back that bad, he's going to do Clay things to get it.

He slinks towards Desmond’s office cautiously, as if there was anything he could really do if Desmond did decide to attack him- which he’s done more than once now.

“You can not!” an unfamiliar voice barks. Desmond’s talking to someone, obviously. “The Templars are weak right now, if we do not act, they will not remain that way.”

“Agreed,” another voice says. More than one ‘someone’s. He is the ‘master assassin’ and, as such, the mentor’s favorite so this shouldn't be surprising. “With Warren Vidic dead, now is the best time to aggress and ensure they can not continue their animus research.”

“This is too widely spread,” Desmond says calmly. “There’s no way we can effectively wipe their research from their order right now. We need more preparation, more _information_.” Clay plans on listening in more, just so he has any semblance of an idea of what he’s walking into, but Rebecca rather dramatically motions him to go in and he doesn’t have much of a choice. It's not like Desmond doesn't know he's here. He slips into the room and Desmond turns to him minutely before looking back to the several displayed projections.

Inherently, Clay recognises one of them right away as The Mentor- or rather, recognises his cowardly shadowed figure and distinct silhouette. Aside from that, there’s William, but he doesn’t know who the rest of these people are. Assassins, obviously, and distinctly varied in a way he isn't used to seeing. Desmond gestures for him to join the conversation- of which he has no idea anything about and doesn’t want anything to do with. If The Mentor and William are involved, he doesn't want to be.

“Kaczmarek,” one of them says, accent heavy. Oh good, they know who _he_ is. Kaczmarek was, as Desmond put it, the ‘modern Da Vinci’. The whole Brotherhood probably knows who he is, if not in name or face then by accomplishments. “We understand you are quite ill and amnesiac. Hopefully we can make this quick and easy for you though I doubt you’ll offer the same courtesy.” He and Kaczmarek are definitely different versions of each other.

“We also understand you are heavily compromised,” another says, less to him and more as a general, sharp reminder to the group of them. “Regardless, your data from Abstergo has been quite- enlightening.”

“Indeed,” The Mentor agrees. “You’ve done substantial work for the Brotherhood, Kaczmarek, and we would hate to see anything bad happen to you-” That sounds threatening. “Especially considering this information is absolutely vital to our safety. Desmond assures me your ‘compromised’ nature will take care of itself in the near future.” That also sounds like a fucking threat. Clay leans into Desmond to speak just the two of them and Desmond doesn't budge. Tenseness floods from his body.

“What the fuck is happening?” Clay asks quietly. “And why exactly couldn’t you have told me before hand this time?”

“They dropped it on me. I didn’t exactly want to do this right now, either,” Desmond replies mildly, turning just enough to prevent anyone watching from hearing or lip reading. This Desmond is a sheer force of nature and still he bends to the beck and whims of their ‘creed’ as if they wouldn't literally be dead without him. Clay doesn't get it. “You have Kaczmarek’s body, remember.” Unfortunately, he does.

“Do you need a moment?” William asks, sharper than it really needs to be when they take longer than he'd like. Clay gives him an annoyed look but bites back any comments just in case the actual Kaczmarek actually happens to care how these people see him. Or don't. From his Bleed, Clay knows William and Kaczmarek aren't on great terms but he doesn't know when it became a mutual dislike or exactly why.

“We do, actually,” Desmond agrees without hesitation. “Kaczmarek, being an amnesiac and all, doesn’t remember who any of you are. He's a little confused, sorry. Give me a minute to catch him up again.” For the most part, they all nod in mild understanding and Desmond hastily disconnects from the conversation. It's likely they've either been told or are just inherently under the impression he's Bleeding, too. Clay will give them minimum points for being reasonable.

“I’m not your Kaczmarek,” Clay reminds him as soon as he's sure they're no longer listening. “I don’t even know what was in that data, Desmond.” They've barely told him anything and what he's overheard is vague at best and disjointed. Desmond doesn’t look at him for a few moments, crossing his arms across his chest and looking down as he presumably thinks. Even now, the way he holds himself is intimidating.

“Well,” he finally says. “What’s in the data is ninety percent of our undercover agents’ identities.” Alright, even Clay knows that’s bad. That’s far beyond bad. “More so, it shows us that this ‘animus’ research goes a lot deeper than recovering POEs. They’re making soldiers, Kaczmarek. Some of them sleeper.”

“No shit, of course they fucking are,” Clay replies. They really didn't know. They were too focused on the artifacts. “You think they just made one Cross? They figured out that was a thing they could do and they focused all their energy on that.”

“Every agent on the inside is now not only compromised but potentially a serious danger,” Desmond says. Cross alone was the complete downfall of the Brotherhood he knew. Clay isn't sure how many ‘ninety percent’ is, but it hardly matters. If they have information about the assassins and Abstergo has gotten to them, there's no going back. That's not even taking into consideration how many assassins might just go violently rogue all of a sudden. “That many agents, if this is happening- if Abstergo was successful in doing what the data shows, every assassin cell in the _world_ is in immediate danger. On top of that, we can’t trust any of our infiltrators right now. We have no idea when this started and we have no idea how many of them are brainwashed.”

“What happened to ‘knowing’ Kaczmarek’s programming works?” Clay asks sourly. That's what he's around for, isn't it? Desmond exhales shortly.

“He made that with Cross,” he answers. “First generation. Since then- he has no idea how far they’ve come. He’s working on upgrading it now. Hopefully we can hold off until then but it’s not looking good.” Of course, construct Kaczmarek has everything under control. Clay just has the misfortune of having his body right now.

“So what do you want from me besides to smile and look pretty?” Clay scoffs back.

“I don’t know,” Desmond admits thoughtfully. “I- this might be hard for you to believe, but I trust you, Kaczmarek.”

“But you still think I’m ‘compromised’?” he replies irritably.

“Now? No,” Desmond says. Clay is quiet. He's not sure what changed that. It should be more suspicious than ever that Clay might just be a cruel joke by Abstergo in one way or another. Why did he change his mind all of a sudden? “No. Right now, I might actually trust you more than I trust that Kaczmarek. He’s- there’s a lot Abstergo could have done to him and could have done to the hard drive before we got there. Two weeks is a lot of time to miss.”

Well isn’t this quite the change of events. Clay can see why Desmond wouldn’t be so quick to want to give Kaczmarek his body back. It has to hurt him, too, to not know if Kaczmarek really _is_ his Kaczmarek. At least he knows Clay isn't.

“I need them to think we have everything under control,” Desmond says quietly after a moment. “I need- I need to be able to deal with Kaczmarek without their interference.” ‘Deal with’. He'd kill Clay in heartbeat but Kaczmarek? Lucy said Kaczmarek would burn the world for Desmond, he wonders if the opposite is true. Clay shrugs in mild agreement.

“I’ll do what I can,” he assures fleetingly. He can’t promise this will go well if they realise he’s _wrong_ like Desmond did. “I don’t want any of them here anymore than you do.” Desmond sighs deeply. Fortunately, the Bleeding effect and his already well known volatile mental state works to their advantage. He eventually nods though and with some reluctance, returns them to the call. It’s clear now these are the leaders of the main Brotherhood dens. Clay had never met any of them in his own reality; they were likely already dead by the time he joined. It’s a weird thought to think.

“Caught up?” The Mentor asks, not unkind but aggravating all the same. His gentle ‘understanding’ despite his ‘eccentric’ personality like he values Kaczmarek’s work and contributions or something is beyond irritating.

“As much as an amnesiac can be, sure,” Clay replies sarcastically. “Like I told Desmond, I’m working on a solution, alright? With this data I can more accurately pinpoint exactly what Abstergo is doing to these agents and exactly how to counter it. It just takes time. I’ll mindwipe myself before I let Abstergo fucking tell me what to do.”

“That is not good enough,” The Mentor says without missing a beat. Clay withholds the urge to tell him to die then.

“It’s not,” another agrees. “If Abstergo has our agents, then who knows how much intel they have on us. They could hit us at our _homes_ , if not worse.”

“And we will be ready,” Desmond assures firmly. “They haven’t acted so far and without Vidic, with Kaczmarek having set them back as far as he did, we have no reason to think they’d strike so soon now. Hera is still working. We can still count on it.” Even if they can’t count on Kaczmarek, right? How long was Kaczmarek in Abstergo in this reality?

“Because Vidic _is_ gone,” someone bites. “Now is as obvious a time to do it as any. We already know something is coming, waiting for Hera to confirm it is irrelevant.”

“Sorry, I forgot, you’re the side that likes to kill your own recruits without knowing the full story, right?” Clay comments. “It’s coming back to me now, yeah. You kill a whole bunch of agents you think are brainwashed and _then_ Abstergo cleans up the rest. Got it. Solid plan.” Heavy silence. Oh good, they still have _some_ common sense or some guilt at least.

“How long will it take you to prepare this new ‘scan’?” William asks.

“Two days,” Clay answers immediately. He knows what a construct version of him can do. Two days in being generous. With Rebecca and his help? Something as simple as that will be done in a couple hours. Testing it is another story, thought. They’ll need a proper subject to make sure it works and that might be harder than it sounds. “Distributed in three. We can scan everyone if you fucking feel like it. Just- be _patient_.”

“Very well, Kaczmarek,” The Mentor agrees. “With your record, I believe two days is acceptable.”

“We are trusting in a compromised agent to overseer the development of a mind _control_ device?” someone asks incredulously.

“Holy shit, you’re stupid,” Clay says and he immediately gets several annoyed looks for it. Kaczmarek is obviously highly regarded if they are willing to deal with him this much even if obviously they’d rather not deal with him personally. Desmond was more than an incentive to make him work harder; he was Kaczmarek’s handler in a way, too.

“Desmond and Rebecca have control of the situation,” William promises. “Anything he does, has to go through her and she has never been in direct contact with Abstergo. Or do you not trust Desmond to handle the situation.” As much as William doesn’t like him, Clay feels this mutual dislike started with Kaczmarek and if anything, the only thing William actually has against him is dating his precious son. Even that seems like he begrudgingly accepts. He dislikes Kaczmarek because Kaczmarek dislikes him- for good reason.

“I-” the man begins hesitantly. “Of course I do. Very well. But we surely can not be expected to sit with our thumbs in our asses, correct?”

“We should scatter,” Desmond agrees. “Everyone.”

“You want to _scatter_ the _entire_ Brotherhood?” someone repeats. “There’s no way.”

“Right now, that sounds like the only way,” another agrees. “The more distance we have from each other, the less likely we’ll lose many agents in a single attack.”

“Indeed,” The Mentor hums. “A good idea, but hardly feasible. We’ll scatter who we must, where we must, but certain compounds must stay active otherwise we are no Brotherhood at all. We’ll deal with Hera alerts as and if they come.” Clay makes a mocking expression that no one comments on directly.

“And the Apple?” William asks. “We can not leave it for Abstergo to ‘stumble’ across while we deal with this ‘issue’. Retrieving it should be a priority.” Clay is really starting to regret mentioning he knew where the Apple was. In retrospect, one of his more poor ideas. He didn’t think he was going to tell his dad _everything_ , fairly.

“The Apple is safer where it is,” Desmond says firmly. “We know beyond a certainty they can not retrieve it right now.” There’s something ironic about that ‘certainty’ being Clay. There’s something equally ironic about Desmond knowing only he can retrieve the Apple, a safeguard far more effective than the actual safeguards, but also knowing he’ll have to release it into the wild eventually.

“The Apple will be safer with the Brotherhood,” another urges.

“Absolutely not,” someone else argues. “If they do not know where it is, Desmond is right, it should remain there.”

“They _will_ find out where it is,” comes the counter. “Do you truly believe the Apple is safer in an unknown location than it is with Desmond himself?” Desmond haunts Abstergo’s nightmares, sure, but relying on him alone to keep the Apple safe when he’s still just a soft, mortal man seems a little out of touch.

“This is beyond any of us! The Apple should be retrieved only if we absolutely must!” cries another. Clay leans into Desmond again, not exactly being the most discreet in his secrecy nor caring to be.

“If Abstergo does get the Apple, they’re more likely to launch it into space than anything else,” he comments. “Unless in this reality they have someone that can use it, which I doubt, you should be the only one. Just so you know.” Dealing with the Apple at all is far from ideal but, given the circumstances, Clay unfortunately agrees that Abstergo _couldn’t_ take it from Desmond and if by some miraculous means they did, they’d never be able to keep it from him. They’ll want to study it first and Desmond would descend upon them with hell’s fury- and a whole Brotherhood backing him up.

“The Apple should stay where it is,” Desmond says again, more sternly. “We will deal with it after we assure the safety of our order or, if it comes to it, if Abstergo makes a move on it.”

“The Apple is not a priority in the current situation,” The Mentor assures. “Desmond, you will find out its location for yourself in case this goes unfavourably but it shall stay where it is. If Abstergo comes after us, having the Apple will not do anyone any favours.” Begrudgingly, everyone falls silent to his ‘orders’. Clay rolls his eyes before looking for something more interesting to focus on. There’s not much, unfortunately. Just because The Mentor is turning out to have some resemblance of a brain doesn’t mean Clay has to like him.

“This ‘animus project’ must be halted- no, _utterly destroyed_ ,” someone says and everyone agrees wholeheartedly. “Desmond, we are ready to help in what ways we can. Only let us know.” Clay really shouldn’t be surprised that this reality’s Desmond, trained to be the Master Assassin the Brotherhood needed, is also being groomed and supported into fulfilling the role of the next mentor. Modern Mentors don’t have to be master assassins, just good leaders. Desmond is both.

“Thank you,” Desmond replies, humble. “Once we learn how to counter this new threat, we will do our best to find a way to stop it from progressing any further.”

“Excellent,” The Mentor praises. “William, please join Desmond in Italy at soon as you are able. I believe your expertise will be required.” William nods.

“Fantastic,” Clay says sarcastically. “Are we done here? I have work to do.”

“Dismissed,” The Mentor says. The projector flickers off and Desmond moves to assure the connection is cut.

“You need to delay William,” Clay says at once. William is the last thing they need here right now especially considering all the information Desmond has, wisely, decided was ‘not his business’. If Desmond relays important information to William, who knows what William will relay to The Mentor and once it gets that far, there’s no controlling it. Clay doesn’t trust the Brotherhood, the Assassins, never will, but he trusts Desmond and if he wants any chance of figuring out what the fuck he’s doing here, this ‘issue’ needs to stay to their fucked up little team.

“I’m _aware_ ,” Desmond replies sharply, already moving out of the room. Clay follows on his heels. “Rebecca, Kaczmareks, we need that upgrade for the animus _yesterday_. Shaun, William’s on his way, slow him down. Lucy, I hate to say it, but we need a test subject. You and I are going to go get one. The data Kaczmarek has should point us to one. Let’s move everyone!”

-

Clay stares at the animus.

Just the two of them now. Desmond and Lucy have gone to collect their target, Rebecca is sleeping, and Shaun has exhausted himself into a power nap. Just him and other him. He has to give Kaczmarek his body back, plain and simple. If there is anything about him that needed to travel into this reality for whatever god forsaken reason, Kaczmarek should inherit it when he gets his body back. The longer this draws on, the less he’s going to want to do it and the more issues that are going to come up because of it.

If William gets here and realises what's gone on, there's no telling what kind of fallout there will be. Desmond might have some sense of rationality, and just inherently like him for being _a_ Kaczmarek, but William is the exact opposite. If he's not their Kaczmarek, it is all too likely William will just straight up murder him. He'd like to avoid that if at all possible.

Kaczmarek doesn't sleep, obviously, it's unnecessary in the animus. Like presumed, they finished their little ‘upgrade’ in a couple hours- Clay’s help was hardly necessary and barely given. The less he knows, the better at this point. All that's left is to assure it works and fine tune it enough so other cells can use it successfully. As idiot proof as the animus seems sometimes, this isn't something they want to risk someone fucking up.

Clay tries to still his rapid heartbeat as he blanks his mind to sit in the deathly, death machine. He reminds himself he's doing this of his own free will and that it'll probably be fine. He'll just be trapped in hell again. All things considering, actually, Kaczmarek will probably be far more eager to erase his presence from the animus than the animus itself was. Kaczmarek doesn’t like being in the animus and he’ll know full well Clay would rather be dead- if he doesn’t already know. This eases him a little bit, enough to actually use the damn thing now that he's here.

The black room is different from this end. It's different from the one he had found himself anchored to, as well. It's hard to tell if the difference is because he doesn't exist in the code itself or if because the animus is much different from his own.

Kaczmarek meets him immediately.

“The not me,” he says. “Are you really from another reality?”

“See for yourself,” Clay replies mildly. So Kaczmarek does. The island around them changes rapidly as his memories are browsed. They pass by too quickly to really make them out but Clay is intimately familiar with all of them. More than one spot is staticy, an obvious indication that he doesn't remember those as well if at all, but otherwise he can place all of these memories.

While this is all just recall to Clay, it's not for Kaczmarek. Since he's viewed roughly thirty years, give or take animus time, in all of about six seconds, Clay can't say for sure what it was exactly that causes tears to form in Kaczmarek’s eyes. That seems a _little_ melodramatic. He has to take a moment to collect himself and Clay lets him. Maybe he saw how much Desmond missed him. The tears are gone in an instant, like they were never there.

“Huh,” Kaczmarek murmurs. “Give me my body back.”

“Take it,” Clay replies.

His head is killing him.

Clay, quite honestly, is more annoyed by the fact that he is conscious and aware again than he is about the headache. How many times does he need to try to kill himself for it to finally fucking take? Kaczmarek should have taken his body back. Why didn’t he?

Or why couldn’t he?

Exhaustedly, Clay blinks his eyes open to find out exactly where he is now. Desmond’s room, of course. They tell him to sleep in Rebecca’s room but anything happens to him and he inevitably winds up in Desmond’s. The movement beside him is new, though. Clay glances over minutely to watch Desmond yawn, roll over, and begrudgingly get himself out of bed.

This would be less alarming if Clay is sure he hasn’t seen Desmond sleep once since he got here. Or maybe it would be less alarming if Desmond didn’t get out of bed and have to put underwear back on. Clay shifts just enough to assure, yeah, he’s also naked. What _happened_? Well, he can presume _what_ happened. Why or _how_ is a better question.

“I’m gonna be perfectly honest up front here, I don’t remember anything from last night,” he says. Desmond snorts a laugh as he pulls pants on as well, ruffling his hair in his hand. His neck is absolutely riddled with bite marks and hickies.

“We can play reminder later, Clay,” he assures with an affectionate, mischievous smile. “We have stuff to do. And I’m sore, believe it or not.”

“No, Desmond,” Clay says more tensely. “I don’t _remember_ what happened after I got in the animus to give your Kaczmarek his body back.” Desmond freezes, realisation taking place, then slowly looks over his shoulder at him. Any sort of pleasantly or contentedness has fled for greener fields.

“‘Your Kaczmarek’,” he repeats. He shakes his head, going from lazily redressing to hastily yanking clothes on and shaking his head. “Fucking fantastic. Get up, put some fucking clothes on.”

“What happened?” Clay asks, pulling on the clothes haphazardly laid around on the floor for lack of anything else to put on. These definitely aren’t the clothes he got into the animus with. He shakes his hair out only to pull his hand away questioning and feel his head again. Did someone give him a haircut? And shave his face now that he thinks about it.

“You tell me,” Desmond snaps back, fixing the collar of his shirt as high up over the marks on his neck as he can. “Because a couple hours ago, you _were_ my Kaczmarek.”

Clay concurs; fucking fantastic.

“I tried to fix this,” Clay bites. “I put myself back into the damn machine to try to fucking give you Kaczmarek back, okay? I don't fucking know what happened.” Desmond stops abruptly, turning on Clay with a look sharper than any blade he could wield; deadlier, too.

“Were you Kaczmarek last night?” he asks, far too steady to be anything but dangerous and threatening.

“If you're asking if I saw an opportunity to fuck you and took it, no,” Clay replies mildly. “I went in the animus like five minutes ago and woke up now.” Desmond searches him long enough to be satisfied with what he finds before continuing out of the room. Clay pulls his shirt on as he follows. He runs a hand over his neck. It’s weird to feel like he’s had sex but not been there for it. He can’t see his own throat but he has the feeling he and Desmond match.

“I don't understand why this is happening now,” Desmond says, making a beeline for the animus. God, Clay really doesn’t want to go back in there so soon. “William’s going to be here tomorrow and I have no idea how I'm going to explain _ou_. Nor do I want to.”

“Uh,” Rebecca murmurs as Desmond almost immediately crowds into her workspace. She looks at Clay questioningly, more than capable of reading the negativity of the situation. Desmond looks like he’s ready to murder, it’s not that difficult. “What's going on?”

“Your favorite fucked up version of me is back,” Clay replies. She grimaces.

“Kaczmarek woke up- this Kaczmarek,” Desmond explains fleetingly. “Check his head. I want to make sure _our_ Kaczmarek is still in there and bring him out if you can.” As always, there's nothing more confidence boosting than Desmond just wanting a different him.

“Just,” Clay says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Call me Sixteen before you give us all a migraine.”

“Get in the animus, Sixteen,” Desmond instructs. He’s always been great at making things infinitely more worse for himself and this is so much worse. Clay would think that because he had just gotten in it, he'd be able to do it again but his whole being vehemently refuses. He's honestly shocked he got himself in it the first time. “ _Get in the animus_.”

Not with fucking that tone, he’s not.

“Look, obviously Kaczmarek is still here. If anything-” Clay pauses, rummaging his thoughts. “If anything, he's just dormant right now, okay? Give him some time and I'm sure he'll wrestle control back.” Because Clay can feel it. It's strange and distant but there's a low hum of nagging at the back of his head like there's thoughts he wants to think that aren't his own. Like there's a way he wants to be but cant. Unless Kaczmarek went out of his way to scrub Clay from his head, this reverting back shouldn't be too surprising, actually.

“Kaczmarek’s mental state is flimsy at best,” Rebecca agrees quietly. “It isn't that far fetched that Cl- er Sixteen’s personality- I guess?- is still lingering in there. Sixteen didn’t show up in the animus’ system after Clay came back, anyways. Something must have triggered him to come back out.”

“And getting in the animus triggered Kaczmarek to come out,” Desmond says.

“Only because he took his body back from me,” Clay replies shortly. “That was different. Getting back in the animus so soon-”

“It's been a week, Sixteen,” Desmond cuts him off coldly. Clay’s grip slips a little. A _week_? He's lost an entire week? It feels like it's only been a couple minutes, maybe an hour or two. Kaczmarek had his body back for a whole week and just fucked off again? “Don't make me ask you again.”

Clay doesn't know what to say. Despite every fiber of his being reacting violently in disagreement, he gets back in the animus.

“Uh, don't worry, we're just going to check you out,” Rebecca assures. This is somehow worse, actually. Just sitting in this thing skyrockets Clay’s anxiety levels to the max. He'd be better off actually diving into it. “Clay reworked the system to deal with Abstergo. We can trace specific memory frequencies and counter the brain washing.”

“I hate to say this, but keep talking,” Clay replies. He honestly doesn't care, he shouldn't be here, but listening to her helps him not focus on being attached to this thing. Rebecca, fortunately, can talk and work at the same time.

“While Clay found a way to determine exactly what memories were implanted, removing them is sort of a whole thing and we couldn't exactly distribute this thing to a whole bunch of dens and expect them to work it,” she goes on without complaint. Desmond just watches, seething quiet, stoney face rage. “Pulling out memories can rip out attached ones if you're not careful. Plus, any memories made after the removed memories are hit and miss. Any memories directly linked afterwards to the removed one get ripped out, too.”

“Kaczmarek did this in a week?” Clay asks. As a construct, sure, but back in his original body? Clay wouldn't have even known where to start on something this intense.

“He had a heads up being in Abstergo and everything,” Rebecca assures. “The groundwork was already down and I guess he used some of your memories to help finish it?” Kaczmarek got his memories but not vise versa. He shouldn't be surprised at this point mostly because it does make sense. What short time they talked, construct Kaczmarek basically absorbed Clay's memories or _whatever_ when he went through them. Of course he still had them when they merged.

“I made up some plans for a ‘pocket animus’,” she continues. “Something simple enough that we could distribute the plans worldwide for the dens to make on short notice and still sturdy enough to run Clay's program. Once they're built, they should be able to determine if any of our assassins really are sleepers and if they are, well-”

“They were going to be transported to The Garden so Kaczmarek could remove Abstergo’s plants,” Desmond says. The obvious conclusion to this statement is now he can't because he's not here. Clay's mind is flickering too violently between thoughts to focus on any one.

“Good news,” Rebecca says, more than glad to move on from the conversation at hand. “Clay is still in here. This is- your head is way more of a mess than I thought but everything from before Abstergo is still here. As far as anything after, it all reads implanted but the last week's memories seem to be stable. I don't think the animus can survive diving any deeper than surface level. It's already having a real hard time chewing through this. Sixteen is more likely to overload it than anything else.” That's not surprising. Clay didn't think the animus, or him, would survive an encounter in the first place. Every one after is just tempting fate.

It begs an interesting question, though: did Kaczmarek see his compressed memories?

“That's fine,” Desmond says tensely. “This is exactly why I didn't want him back in his body yet.” Clay hastily gets out of the animus the second Rebecca unhooks him. He rubs his arm distantly. Kaczmarek is no longer in the animus which, while great for him, means there's now no way to interact with him.

“I don't know what made him- disappear again,” Clay murmurs. He hadn't been aware of _anything_ happening in the time he was gone. He'd assume the same could be said for Kaczmarek now but he couldn't know for sure. “The sex, probably.”

“No,” Desmond replies curtly. “We- no. If anything, it was his own thoughts.” That was Clay's second guess.

“Wait let me guess, you want me to try to get him back,” he says sarcastically. “Meditate him out? Maybe give myself an anxiety attack so I can go back under?”

“Shut up,” Desmond says with nothing but a cold inflection. “William will be here soon. He won't ask too many questions, he knows Kaczmarek won't answer them properly, so just stay out of the way. You're recovering. There's nothing more we can do about Abstergo’s sleeper agents until everyone is processed.”

“He's going to want to go after the Apple,” Clay reminds him. “You _know_ he is. The Mentor didn’t send him here for his ‘expertise’, he sent him here to make sure the Apple is secure with the Brotherhood.”

“There is no ‘knowing’, only assuming,” Desmond replies, as irritably as he’s making Clay irritated.

“He might have a point, Desmond,” Rebecca agrees. “Clay didn’t know where the Apple was, right? Sixteen does. Maybe Clay, metaphorically, moved aside so Sixteen could help?”

“He should know everything I know,” Clay bites back. “If he did this intentionally-” Kaczmarek is a fucking dead man. If this was intentional, it's because he didn't want to deal with William. Clay doesn't want to deal with William either!

“It doesn't matter,” Desmond says. “You're here now. Don't say anything to William you don't have to, got it?” Clay firms his lips. He doesn't honestly want to talk to William at all, and won't if he can help it, but he doubts it's going to be that easy. William is going to have a lot of questions, some of which Clay definitely doesn't have the answer to. Aside from that, though, he sees another glaring issue.

They're supposed to be dating. William is, without a doubt, going to realise something is very wrong between them, just like Desmond realised he wasn't actually Kaczmarek, and it's going to be downhill from there. If there wasn't already enough reason to make him suspicious, the tension between them will be a glaring red flag. All that's going to do is make him ask more questions and, inevitably, find more reasons as to why Clay isn't Kaczmarek thus giving him more reasons to distrust and discard him.

“No promises,” Clay murmurs. Desmond shakes his head.

-

Clay definitely feels better with his hair cut, face trimmed, and arms newly bandaged. He doesn’t expect this to last very long but it’s a momentary niceness. While everyone else ‘prepares’ for William to arrive, mostly via hiding anything and everything not his business, Clay tries his damnedest to pull Kaczmarek back out again.

He doesn’t actually know what he’s doing so it isn’t going well.

The likelihood that Kaczmarek did this intentionally is pretty slim though Clay will say he probably has more of hand in refusing to come back out. He wouldn’t want to come out, either. Maybe that narcolepsy will do them both a favor and they can sleep through William’s entire visit here. Clay scoffs to himself.

“Looks like William is five minutes out,” Shaun informs.

“Here goes nothing,” Desmond murmurs but it’s mainly to himself. “Remember, first and foremost, do not let on that Kaczmarek isn’t Kaczmarek. Don’t tell William _anything_ he doesn’t need to know. For all we know, he isn’t uncompromised by this, either and I won’t have him telling me how to handle this situation.” Everyone agrees in a group of unhesitant murmurs and nods.

Even now it’s surprising to Clay how quick his team will follow him and only him. He wouldn’t be surprised that even in the few circumstances where they don’t, it’s probably because Desmond instructed them not to. Neither he or anyone else would want to risk them going against the higher ups if it brings down an unfair punishment or, worse, irrational suspicion.

“Sixteen,” Desmond says. Clay kind of hates how easily they’ve taken to this like they were just waiting to find out his ‘real’ name- he obviously _isn’t_ Clay Kaczmarek, after all. “Try to stay out of the way, alright?”

“Whatever you say, mentor,” Clay replies sarcastically. As usual, Desmond doesn’t acknowledge it. It’s not like William is going to see everything is going fine and just leave. The Mentor sent him here for a reason and until that reason is completed, he’s not going anywhere. This is a rouse they can only hold up for so long. If it's the Apple they want, well, Clay doesn't think he's against giving it to them as long as Desmond doesn't get hurt in the process.

It's not going to stay locked up forever.

“Desmond,” William greets, not friendly but rather with a tone like he's proud of all things.

“William,” Desmond replies easily enough but it grates Clay's nerves something fierce. As ‘instructed’, Clay stays out of the way, though. Hiding is obviously a bad idea but he keeps to himself huddled into a computer screen like he's actually doing something.

“Anything new?” William asks.

“No,” Desmond answers. William nods.

“Rebecca, Shaun, nice to see you again,” he offers with a small nod to each of them.

“Yeah, it's been a while!” Rebecca agrees and grins.

“Not that long,” Shaun murmurs halfly, hardly interested in looking away from his work.

“Lucy, how are you doing?” William asks. Lucy shrugs in reply.

“Glad to be out of Abstergo,” she answers simply.

“I'm sure,” he replies.

“If you're done, we have some things to discuss,” Desmond assures him. The idea of them being alone together in a room isn't great but there's not exactly a lot Clay can do about it. Desmond has already proven to roll over for his dad when pressed too hard.

“Of course,” William agrees but instead of following Desmond towards his office, he approaches Clay, obviously. “Are you feeling any better, Clay? With all the work you've been putting out in the last week, I doubt you've gotten any rest.”

“I'll feel better when this is dealt with,” Clay says mildly. He makes a shooing to make William go away but it doesn’t exactly work.

“Indeed. Do you have a moment?”

There's that dizzying sensation again. Clay grips the side of the table to try to keep himself upright but the vertigo he feels from his vision deciding it's not interested in looking at the now makes it next to impossible to actually do.

“You know Bill,” Clay murmurs. “I would really, truly _love_ to stay and chat but I just started Bleeding again. Oh well.” He feels himself fall out of his chair but not hit the floor.

“ _Jesus Christ_ , get him to bed, please.”

“Clay,” William says again, more firmly this time. Clay blinks curiously, lifting his head just enough to realise he's being spoken to before righting himself. “Do you have a moment?”

“Uh, sure,” he agrees. “I guess. Is something wrong?” This place looks familiar and it takes Clay a moment to realise this was where he had been trained. Familiar, but not exact. There's too many people here, too much stuff, it's structured weird. The differences make sense, though.

“No,” William assures. “I just wanted you to meet someone.” Clay looks at him curiously as William extends a hand to gesture over a young man. Fuck, that's Desmond. Holy shit. It's always so easy to forget the age difference between them especially considering the time he's spent in the animus but this Desmond looks like he's hardly a day over eighteen. How much older is he? It was four, right? Or eight? Clay can't remember how old he was when he trapped himself in the animus- doesn't even know how much real time passed before his Desmond-

“This is my son,” William says. “Desmond. Desmond, this is Clay Kaczmarek.”

“Nice to meet you,” Desmond offers and he extends a hand to shake with a smile. At _least_ eighteen and already way better looking than Clay had ever been. Obviously the current Clay notices too because he stares just long enough for it to be super awkward.

“Y-yeah,” he says hastily, quickly reaching out to shake Desmond’s hand. “Yeah, it's good to meet you. Sorry, I wasn't expecting, uh- I didn't know Bill had a kid.” Desmond laughs. He reaches with his other hand to physically pry Clay's hand out of his own, making no mention or acknowledgment of it otherwise, and Clay pulls away urgently when he realises.

“He's not a talker,” Desmond assures. William scoffs mildly in agreement. “I've heard you've done some pretty cool stuff since you've been here. You broke their email server decryption, right? That’s impressive.” This Clay, hell any Clay, isn’t used to having his achievements acknowledged so openly and it shows. There’s a brief pause where he stares like he’s waiting to hear what negative Desmond is going to ‘sandwich’ in.

Clay knows now that any kindness William had showed him during his training was just to make ends meet but he hadn’t at the time and even then, it had taken a while to get used to actually being treated decently. This Clay is clearly still in the beginning stages of that.

“He means ‘thanks’,” Rebecca butts in. “Clay’s shy, sorry ‘bout him.” Desmond grins like he doesn’t have a fucking care in the world, like everything is easy and effortless for him, like he isn’t bothered by Clay’s behavior or lack thereof, and yeah, Clay can see where Kaczmarek began to worship him like an idol.

“Desmond,” someone else says. That’s Daniel Cross- obviously before he went off the deep end. “The Mentor is calling.”

“Ah, right. Well, nice, uh, not talking to you, Clay,” Desmond murmurs, obviously joking even to Clay’s dense understanding of social interactions. “Maybe we can talk some more later.”

“Y-yeah, maybe,” Clay agrees. He seems distinctly dazed as Desmond wanders off to join Cross, the two of them disappearing somewhere else for this little ‘conversation’. There’s no way this Clay knows Cross is an issue yet.

“Desmond is an elite,” William comments. Clay looks back at him, curious. “He’s exactly what an assassin should be. You’ve done some incredible support work since arriving here, Clay, I don’t think we can stress that enough. With your inherent ability to use your Sight, we hope to see you excellent in the field, as well. You should keep an eye on Desmond, learn from him. Help him where you can, as you can. It’ll go a long way.”

Clay knows what Kaczmarek sees right now, knows what he thinks; Desmond is a mythical ‘elite’ assassin, born and raised, from William’s precious Farm. He is everything Clay wants to be; he wants being an assassin to come naturally and flawless to him like it does to Desmond. An unreachable goal that instead he winds up idolizing and, inevitably- well, inevitably dating and apparently everything turns out fine. Clay’s missing some key events here.

However, it’s more than obvious to him that this is far from what Desmond is. He’s not an ‘elite’, he’s a shallow golden figurehead the Brotherhood tried to use as a shining showcase of what they are capable of when they put their morals aside. He’s his father’s son.

“I’ll- yeah, I’ll do that,” Clay murmurs quietly. Rebecca elbows him hard in the ribs and he gives her an annoyed look. Desmond wasn’t kidding when he said it was clear to him, and probably everyone else, that Clay took to him a lot more than platonically.

“Clay,” Cross calls to him. “Join us for a second here.” Clay absolutely doesn’t want to do that. He knows in this reality that somehow Kaczmarek had stopped Cross but he doesn’t know how or when.

Clay mentally maps out a timeline. Desmond ran away from the farm when he was sixteen in 2003, he’s eighteen-ish now putting the year 2005, two years before he had joined the assassins in his own reality. This confirms that Kaczmarek did join them early. Still, William was already the mentor when Clay joined the assassins and had been since at least 2000 from what he remembers which means Cross should have already acted. There’s no way Clay should have been able to catch him.

In retrospect, Clay never even _met_ Cross.

If that happened before Desmond failed to run away from the farm, it shouldn’t have changed, right? Is the difference in their two realities not that Desmond didn’t get away but that Cross didn’t get his chance at The Mentor? That would have lead to William not stepping up as mentor, the purge not happening yet, thus leaving him more time to pay attention to his son in addition to the Farm being more lenient on training their children- and ruining Desmond’s chance of escape from the go get.

Assuming Kaczmarek tried, or not tried, to kill himself the same time Clay had, though, that would mean Desmond didn’t kill Cross until 2010, nearly ten years after Cross was supposed to have acted in his own reality. By the time Desmond is eighteen, by now, it’s too late for Cross but what delayed him to this point in this reality?

Clay joins Cross and Desmond in their little meeting room. By the way Kaczmarek inherently watches Cross, by the sinking, uneasy feeling he gets, perhaps he does have some idea already that there’s something up with him. Still, it takes him a whole five years to act on it.

“Hello Clay,” The Mentor greets him from his shadowy, secret video feed. “I’ve heard great things about you since your arrival with us. You have done some impressive work.” It is Clay’s instinct to refute this fact if not only to make sure they don’t expect him to be able to maintain this charade. Somehow, though, he manages not to do that.

“Thank you,” Clay murmurs quietly, bowing his head a little.

“In addition to decrypting Abstergo’s email server, you’ve manage to find your way into their data tower and directly uplink us to their findings in that location,” The Mentor goes on. “That is no easy task. How long have you been with us now, Clay?”

“I- six months,” Clay answers. He seems confused as to what he’s doing here but he won’t ask. It’s amusing to think that when he first got here he was so eager and excited and honestly quite amicable while in present day he openly, and honestly, dislikes them as a whole.

“I believe Clay here is the man you’re looking for, Desmond,” The Mentor says. “Please, inform him of your plan.”

“I want to infiltrate a local Abstergo building,” Desmond informs. Clay purses his lips. “And destroy it.”

“Okay,” he says awkwardly. That sounds like a _horrible_ idea. “What do you want from me?”

“I need a cover,” Desmond replies.

“You want me to- make you a fake identity to get into Abstergo? That’s- I mean yeah, I guess I _could_ , but no amount of changing their files will get you past the fact that no one’s ever heard or seen you before,” Clay murmurs. “Though, I guess that depends on what you need and where you need to get. I could- I could get your foot in the door, that’s easy, yeah. They won’t second guess, I don’t know, a janitor or something, but if you only needed that you wouldn’t be asking me to- you need Abstergo to think you’re one of them.”

“I need to be able to access the laboratory,” Desmond says. “That means passing a fingerprint and eye scan.”

“Rudimentary,” Clay seems to comment to himself. “If I can gain access to the building’s local database, inserting your eye and finger prints into the system is a non issue. That would forever leave you in their system which, not good. Adding someone _else’s_ prints, though- a finger printer is easy enough to fool without an actual finger, a retina scanner- I guess a well preserved eye would do if scanned in properly.”

“If I approach the laboratory with a disembodied eye and finger, I think I’ll be pretty suspicious,” Desmond points out. Clay is barely listening, though, already deep into his own thoughts.

“Which means you need access to the building when it’s unoccupied and I need access to their security system, rudimentary. Abstergo isn’t exactly easy going with their access points, you’ll have to get into their building in the first place and likely behind a lot of security in the first place,” he rambles on aimlessly. Did he really used to talk this much? “They wouldn’t let an intern that far but- oh, _oh_.”

“Clay,” Desmond says firmly and Clay blinks as he turns to look at him. “Can you help us?” ‘Us’. Clay looks at Cross wearily.

“Uh, yeah,” he replies. “Yeah, yeah. I think. As fun as blowing it up will be, this is an opportunity to collect invaluable data. Do you know how fucking massive their servers are? If I could get into _one_ of them without them knowing, I could develop an _infallible_ countermeasure system.”

“That sounds pretty ambitious of you,” Cross says mildly. “Desmond’s safety is the priority, don’t forget.” Is Cross Desmond’s handler? That’s weird and supremely unfortunate. Does that mean they were on a team for a while?

“Right,” Clay murmurs. Maybe it’s just him but Kaczmarek clearly didn’t trust Cross from the beginning. “Of course. I, uh, I’ll need Rebecca’s help, obviously. Hardware is more her thing.”

“So be it,” The Mentor agrees. “Desmond, Daniel, you shall work with Clay and Rebecca to see this through. William will be overseeing your work and if it is deemed too dangerous, we’ll see your efforts dedicated to something else. You have my utter most confidence, Desmond.”

“Thank you,” Desmond replies with an eager grin. The video cuts and Clay is left to cradle his chin thoughtfully. Not only is this the first time they met but it’s the first time they work together and thus, the first time that William realises that Kaczmarek will go above and beyond to not only impress Desmond, but ultimately keep him safe. Desmond mentioned they had worked together for a year before dating but neglected to mention how long they had been dating.

“Clay,” Desmond says, having to make an audible effort to get his attention again. Clay looks back at him questioningly. “How can we help?”

“Help,” he repeats, already walking away. “How can you help.”

“Yes, how can I help.”

Clay’s mind reels as he walks through a door only to end up not where he had come from. He’s going to definitely be paying for this later. Desmond grabs his arm, stopping him in his tracks and yanking him around suddenly. He’s older all of a sudden, taller and firmer- he looks more like present day him.

“Let me help you, Kaczmarek,” Desmond demands. ‘Kaczmarek’ all of a sudden. Clay’s obviously missed the part where this switch from first to last name happened. He shoves Desmond’s hand off him irritably, continuing on his way to wherever he’s going. “ _Kaczmarek_.”

“If he doesn’t want help, don’t help him,” Cross sneers. “Come on, Desmond.”

“Don’t touch me,” Desmond says shortly like it's more of a side thought and Clay looks over his shoulder long enough to send Cross an aggravated stare.

“I don’t _need_ help,” Clay snaps. “I need- I need- I need that _fucking_ sound to stop. God, it's been going all day.”

“There is no sound, Kaczmarek,” Desmond assures.

“Great, audio hallucinations. Stage three sleep deprivation. Stage four? Stage three,” he says, rubbing his head in his hands. Desmond grabs him again, more firmly this time, and Clay gives him a mean look. “Desmond, stop-”

“Clay,” Desmond says carefully and something about Clay softens a little. “We work together. What can we do?” For a moment, he doesn't say anything. He grinds his teeth, eyes floating from Desmond to Cross and back again before he frowns.

“You can't tell William,” he finally says shortly.

“Great start,” Cross comments sarcastically. “Why can't we tell William?”

“You couldn't pay me enough to accept your help,” Clay sneers back.

“Look at me,” Desmond instructs, getting his attention again. “Why can't we tell William?” Clay sighs irritably.

“He told me to leave it alone,” he admits begrudgingly.

“Leave what alone?” Desmond presses. Clay's eyes flitter to look somewhere else and he frowns.

“Hera,” he murmurs with obvious reluctance. Desmond sighs quietly, closing his eyes briefly before releasing his hold on Clay and pinching the bridge of his nose instead. “She’ll work, Desmond, I swear. She just needs her own processing power and her own server to keep her updated. I already have the uplink completed. She'll _work_.” Desmond looks back up. He looks tired but it's more likely fed up. Clay refuses to budge though, holds his ground and Desmond’s eyes contact firmly.

“Okay,” Desmond says quietly. Confused relief floods over him. “Okay, Kaczmarek. We'll help you with this, okay? _If_ you promise to get some sleep.”

“William told him to drop it,” Cross reminds him. “Going against your-”

“If Kaczmarek thinks he can make it work then I believe in him,” Desmond cuts him off curtly. “Something like Hera could change the Brotherhood permanently for the better and it'll give us a huge advantage over Abstergo. We're going to help him finish it and if William has a problem with it, he can talk to me.” They're not dating yet; Kaczmarek hasn't yet realised his worship is actually pinning and Desmond hasn't yet realised Kaczmarek is actually someone he can see himself with romantically. This is a huge show of faith, one Desmond believes in not because he particularly likes Kaczmarek but because he knows his work.

“Thank you,” Clay says, both awed and warmed by such a gesture.

“Whatever,” Cross snaps. “What do you need?”

“I need some very powerful equipment out of Abstergo,” Clay informs. “They're not going to be happy about it.” Desmond just grins, though.

“That's it? Consider it done.”


	6. Ctrl

Clay is startlingly aware he doesn't Bleed just for any reason. Kaczmarek is trying to tell him, or more specifically show him, something and at the moment, the only way he can do that is through triggering Bleeds. As fucked as their brain is, Clay supposes he can't be mad that they're roundabout and indirect. He doubts Kaczmarek has nearly that much control over them.

“Clay,” William says and Clay actively ignores him. “This thing works, I assume. Are you well enough to show it to us in progress?” There's no ‘us’, just him. Everyone else is trusting in it; everyone else here has seen it. Besides Clay, obviously, the only person who probably needed to see how to work it.

“That would require someone we know has Templar implants,” Desmond assures. “Did you not watch our report?”

“I did,” William says shortly. As expected, he has immediately figured out something is wrong here and has honed in on Clay for being the likely source. Desmond puts a hand on Clay's back, giving him a comforting, warm rub. It's strictly for show, sure, but Clay sighs deeply and rests his eyes.

“If the local den possesses any implanted agents, which considering how close it is to Abstergo’s home base for animus research, it's likely, Kaczmarek will show you how it works then,” he says. William arches a brow at him before looking over Clay again.

“Of course,” he agrees, distantly and obviously skeptically, but holding out until he has more solid information. He's fishing right now and it's important not to take the bait. Clay isn't sure that's an option since not biting gives William information he wants as well.

“Rebecca can walk you through it, if you want,” Desmond offers, gesturing to her ever vigilantly at her computer setup. William departs without comment to scrutinize something else and Desmond quietly sits beside Clay familiarly close. “Are you alright?”

“Fucking fine,” Clay scoffs back. “My head's killing me.”

“I know,” Desmond murmurs, leaning into him softly to touch their heads together. Clay should have known Desmond would do anything to assure things go as he wants them to, including pretending with no hesitation that Clay is his Kaczmarek. He won't tip his father off so easily. It's weird.

“Could you not,” Clay says under his breath. “He's already not buying this, you know.”

“I need to know where the Apple is,” Desmond says. Oh of course, Clay should have known. He might be able to rub up on Kaczmarek and get results but Clay is significantly more resilient to such tactics.

“I told you he was here for the Apple,” Clay scowls back irritably.

“William hasn't asked about the Apple,” Desmond replies. “With how much you come and go and if Kaczmarek really doesn't know where it is, we need to be able to retrieve it without you.”

“You're not going there without me,” Clay assures. If Kaczmarek does know, then so be it, but otherwise, Clay is deciding when and why they go. He's not dumb enough to let the Brotherhood take it as they see fit.

“Kaczmarek,” Desmond says firmly.

“Don’t,” Clay warns. “You don’t even know what the Apple is capable of.” To which, of course, Desmond can’t argue. He firms his face but doesn’t press the issue further. It would be giving him too much credit to assume that he really doesn’t want the Apple, doesn’t want anything to do with it, but that hardly negates the fact that he will take it if his precious Brotherhood tells him to. Given enough time, he’s sure Abstergo would find a way to get to it but going the rate they’re going, it’s unlikely.

Fortunately, this conversation is cut for the time being by Desmond answering his phone. He stares at Clay with a look that obviously says he’s not done with this but Clay isn’t interested in having this conversation again.

“Bulk art supplies,” Desmond says. He looks away and after a moment, finally gets up and joins Shaun at his computer. Clay watches suspiciously. “Have you informed the den master yet? Don’t, if it’s from the inside I don’t want them tipped off.” Shaun moves aside a little so Desmond can tap at his computer and exchanges a look with Rebecca.

“Got it,” he says, hanging up and taking a moment to browse over whatever he’s opened. Desmond taps his fingers against the desk as he thinks. Whatever it is, he isn’t happy about it. Finally, he rightens himself again. “The local den tripped Hera.”

“Is it bad?” Rebecca asks.

“Orange,” Desmond replies. “Could be worse. Lucy, you’re with me. Rebecca, be ready on support. Shaun, keep an eye on any communications going in and out of that place. If someone’s tipping anyone off, I want to know about it.” Everyone nods in agreement. Desmond seems to pause a moment though, realising that he has an extra hand on his team all of a sudden.

“Dad,” he says tiredly, a slip that is far from affectionate. “If it comes to it, I need you ready to help get this situation under control. Stay here for now, showing your face in the den will be too suspicious, but I trust you’re not too old to move fast.”

“I think I can manage,” William assures. Is that a lilt of amusement Clay hears? Shocker.

“And- leave Kaczmarek alone,” Desmond adds. “He’s confused enough at the moment without you bothering him.”

“I hardly see how that’s any different from normal,” William comments and Clay scoffs loud enough to assure them both he’s not happy with this discussion. “But it’s noted.” Desmond gives him a long look before shaking his head. He heads out and Lucy follows on his heels.

Just because William doesn't immediately descend upon him once Desmond is gone doesn't mean Clay believes he won't.

Assuring he gives himself the least likely chance of this happening, Clay moves to Rebecca’s side to watch her feed of Desmond’s view. The other is obviously Lucy’s considering how often it sees the back of Desmond’s helmet. Clay isn't exactly one to talk but it seems less than ideal letting her ride on the back of his motorcycle. Again, the issue isn't that she might have implanted thoughts, it's that she may have totally willingly turned coat. He doesn't think they have a check system for that.

Clay has to again consider that it is a possibility, no matter how slim, that Kaczmarek might have been the traitor in this reality. He doubts it, not with how much he loves Desmond, but a possibility nonetheless. It's hard to imagine any version of him buying into Templar ideas, regardless of what's happening otherwise.

“How is Desmond’s Sight coming along?” William asks and Clay fights the urge to glare at him just because he's speaking.

“Good, good,” Shaun replies distractedly. To his benefit, he seems to visibly dislike William being here as much as Clay does. Honestly, Clay is sure Rebecca feels the same but she hides it better. He recalls the ‘rest’ of the footage Shaun knows about from who knows how long ago. Was that Bleed triggered by Kaczmarek or just good ol’ plain brain stress?

“Your reports get more detailed every time, Hastings,” William says dryly. Clay listens in, anyways.

“Researching Desmond’s usage of his ability was more Clay's area,” Shaun murmurs. “Something he, like almost everything else, doesn't remember. It's hard for someone without it to parse what's happening at the level Desmond is using it.” Clay had assumed that Rebecca’s helmet was somehow broadcasting what Desmond was seeing but looking at it now, they're obviously not nearly that advanced; capable of a simple led display equivalent to a digital clock not a seamless recreation of a sixth sense. Was Desmond sharing his Sight through touch, then? He knows Ezio’s Eagle Vision enhanced as he aged but there's really no telling how far that could go.

“Yes,” William agrees fleetingly. “Allowing Clay to get so close to Abstergo in the first place was obviously a mistake in retrospect.” Shaun doesn't say anything.

“Amazing, the golden son made a bad choice,” Clay says under his breath.

“You collected valuable data,” Rebecca replies, a certain animosity to her tone that is far from the usual playful meanness. “Bill not trusting Des’ judgement? Less amazing.” Clay looks at her but she doesn't look away from her screen. It's clear she knows more than she's letting on, too. Now that he thinks about it, maybe having a ‘heart to heart’ with them is far from a bad idea. Their mute distaste for William is enough to tip him off that something has clearly happened to make them not favour him.

“Clay,” William says to him. Again, Clay outright ignores him. “Can we reasonably expect you to make such a delicate operation every time with your own memory the way it is?”

“Could you talk about this later?” Rebecca asks. “Sort of in the middle of trying to help Desmond right now.” They wouldn’t dare step between Desmond and him, that much is clear, but they don’t hold the same unsaid rules for William obviously. The way he seems to take it with a grain of salt suggests this isn’t a new occurrence, either. If Clay has picked up correctly on the little signs he has, Desmond nor his team particularly care for William’s intervention for one reason or another. Desmond surely because it’s his father, the others? Clay isn’t sure.

William replies with a less than pleased hum but doesn’t press the issue.

They all watch as Desmond parks his bike in an alley before he and Lucy climb down into the sewer. As much as Clay can see the benefit to keeping their hideouts underground, surely they can do better. It’s not that far of a walk until they reach where they’re going, climbing out into a dingy looking basement. Desmond pulls his helmet off and shortly after, so does Lucy. These are obviously not industry standard yet; Desmond holds his under his arm, assuring the video feed is still usable, while Lucy doesn’t seem to consider it- or maybe she does since she holds her helmet upside down by the neck, giving them a view of behind them. Rebecca reorientates the feed to not give them all nausea.

“Knock knock,” Desmond says. There’s a moment of silence and then a distant reply.

“I- the den master didn’t mention you were coming, Desmond,” someone murmurs.

“Surprise visit,” Desmond assures easily. “Sorry to drop in unannounced. We’ve had a bit of an issue and really need some discretion.” Without any argument, the door opens and they head up the stairs.

Okay, Clay is a little impressed to find that the den isn’t, in fact, underground but actually looks like an office building of some sort. It’s all windows and bright lights and people bustling around. It looks like- Abstergo, actually. He takes that back. While it's organized and clean, there's a certain hominess to it that there never was in Abstergo. ‘Warm’ might be going a little far, but it's definitely a lot more welcoming and a lot less rigid. Desmond and Lucy make their way to the elevator and ride further up to the waiting office.

“Desmond!” the den master greets. Clay recognises him from the video conference. “You did not tell me you were coming. We would have cleaned up!” They switch to Italian, something Clay's brain still effortlessly understands- if he were to listen. Instead, he's focused on a large painting hanging in the room. Ezio Auditore. Painted by Leonardo or, at any rate, someone copying his style perfectly.

No, Clay decides, actually by Leonardo.

“You would think an _assassin_ could be still,” Leonardo says, not particularly annoyed, amused in fact, but still fairly sharp. He's Bleeding but it's hard to tell now if it's him or Kaczmarek’s newly awakened consciousness. Clay’s just glad he's not unconscious for it this time.

“Maybe,” he replies and he hopes he's not speaking out loud. “I would be had I not been dragged and man handled to be dressed and posed while starving. Do you treat all your models this way, Leonardo?”

“Only you, of course,” Leonardo assures, earning a mild scoff in return. “Once the preliminary sketch is completed, you are free to move and eat all you want. Your sister and Machiavelli insisted they needed a painting of you before you got any older.” Clay scoffs.

“This prototype is working exceptionally well, Rebecca,” William comments. “Would it be possible to induce Clay's ‘scan’ into it?” Clay tries to ignore the fact that the room warps in places out of time. He thinks he prefers Bleeding when he's unconscious, actually. His head is killing him.

“Like- to scan people through the visor?” Rebecca replies. “Uh. I mean, hm.”

“Clay?” William asks.

“What was that?” Leonardo murmurs curiously. “Are you going to complain the whole time?”

“Yeah,” Clay murmurs, his brain scraping to stay in the current conversation and not reply to the one from over three hundred years ago. “Yeah, uh- the animus- it needs the animus but it could uh- the visor- You are too busy, anyways. Surely you're not procrastinating your other paintings with mine, are you?” Leonardo makes a mild hum in response.

“I can manage,” he assures fleetingly. “After everything you've done for me? It's the _least_ I can do.”

“I didn't think about it like that?” Rebecca muses thoughtfully. “Would that actually work? I mean the animus screen is still necessary to connect to their brain waves, right? You'd have to be super close to them and I'm pretty sure they'd notice.”

“Even so, if you could use it on the inside then we could monitor our recruits quietly,” William says. Clay is just aware enough to hear how bad of a fucking idea that is. Paranoia from this whole Abstergo brainwashing thing aside, low key mind reading everyone all the time doesn't exactly sound like the freedom the Brotherhood wants.

“Oh,” Shaun says.

“Oh no,” Rebecca murmurs sadly. William sighs. Clay has to really focus to see what's going on, his eyes straining to even remotely comprehend what's on Desmond’s video feed, slightly skewed and laying on the floor now.

“Desmond,” the den master says. “What- he wasn't- He had never been in Abstergo.”

“No, he hadn't,” Desmond replies as he carefully withdraws his blade from his fellow assassin’s ribs. “Traitors don't show up on the scan.” He lays the assassin down slowly, murmurs something Clay can't hear, and sighs deeply. The den master looks on sadly, waiting for Desmond to move away before approaching his recruit to properly lay to rest. Desmond picks his helmet up, pulls it on, and seals the visor down to speak privately to them.

“Code orange is dealt with,” he assures. “Abstergo knows about the Apple and- me.” Clay takes that to mean they know Desmond is the only one that can handle it. How they found out, they can only guess. He thinks about Lucy again. Right now, only Clay knows Desmond even has any relation to the Apple- Clay and anyone who heard. It's a short list; Shaun's too much of a pussy, Rebecca has no reason, and Desmond- shares too much with his father.

“Good job, Desmond,” William says. “Head back, we have things to discuss.” Clay glares at William. He's here for the Apple and now he has a good reason to go after it. Rebecca and Shaun exchange looks before briefly, and mostly instinctively, looking to Clay. They need William out of here, that much is clear.

“There, see? The sketch is done. You can move as much as you want now.”

-

  
Clay looks around a little but he has no idea where he is or what he's doing. He's never been in this room in his life. He's working on something on a computer, shoveling food into his face between key taps, but otherwise is focused and diligent. Whatever it is, it's a whole mess Clay can't even begin to wrap his head around from this direction.

On the brightside, he remembers laying down to sleep this time so he's fully aware he is, in fact, asleep. On the downside, he's pretty sure this is another Bleed. This shouldn't be surprising. The only reason he's Bleeding through Ezio is because Kaczmarek’s mind is still fairly fresh out of Abstergo and being reintroduced to his body has triggered the side effects of the animus use to come roaring back to life.

He's Bleeding through Kaczmarek both because he's still reasonably sure Kaczmarek is trying to convey _something_ to him and because his brain is trying to figure itself out. They're both him; Kaczmarek’s brain is trying to homogenize them into a single entity and right now, the best way it can do that is by forcing Clay through Kaczmarek’s memories. Unfortunately.

“I know I said eating Chinese food in your room counted but I didn't know you were going to spend the whole time working,” Desmond murmurs. Clay blinks, turning enough to look at Desmond spread out on the bed, his bed, just casual and relaxed in his presence. Obviously Kaczmarek has some pull on these memories, whether he intends it or not. Clay can't imagine he intended this one. Kaczmarek misses Desmond a lot, that's plain as day. He looks back to his computer.

“Sorry I, uh-” he hesitates, awkwardly moving like he's not sure if it's already too late. “Haven't really, you know, done this before?” Desmond sits up and sighs quietly, rubbing the back of his head as Clay turns back again. “We could still watch that movie?”

“It's a little late now,” Desmond replies. Clay frowns. There's a brief moment of panic from thinking he's ruined everything before Desmond gets up and approaches him. He takes Clay's wrist gently, tugs him out of his chair and towards the bed. A little relief wells up. “Can we kiss?”

Kaczmarek seems perplexed by the question but it's not clear why. He opens his mouth to reply, decides against it, and nods instead. Desmond smiles at him as they sit on the edge of the bed together and he leans in to very carefully, very gently kiss him. Perhaps he's worried Kaczmarek will change his mind about not being gay. Clay tightens his fingers in Desmond’s thigh for something to hold on to before tentatively following when he pulls back to chase the kiss. This is sickeningly sweet, isn't it?

A year into meeting Desmond, only a couple months past that into joining the Assassins, he obviously hasn't learned his lesson about how hard the world is, yet. He's not good ol’ mean but effective Kaczmarek yet. Even Desmond can't stop that.

Clay yanks away suddenly, a rather disorientating motion, but Desmond doesn't really react. Instead, he just looks on like he's patiently waiting to continue.

“Get out,” Clay growls. This is an odd change of behavior, but not exactly surprising. Desmond hadn't mentioned anything like this. Though at this point, he's not sure he expected him to. Still, Desmond doesn’t so much as flinch let alone reply in any way. That seems- “I said get out!”

Kaczmarek is talking to him, not Desmond.

“Stay out of my memories!” Kaczmarek barks angrily. Desmond isn't reacting because this isn't how this memory went. Bleeds don't exactly desync. Kaczmarek has seen all of his memories already, if he's upset it's only because this one is intimate and he doesn’t like sharing Desmond- even with himself.

“You guys bang on the first date? I mean, you've know each other a year, I guess,” Clay murmurs.

“Get out of my head! Give me my body back!” Kaczmarek sneers at him. “Just because you had a shitty life doesn't mean you get to take mine!”

“I'd literally rather be dead,” Clay assures. “Working on it.”

He's woken up so abruptly and so suddenly, Clay gasps for breath as he sits bolt upright. Hopefully that's not a common occurrence. If Kaczmarek is going to wake him up every time he sleeps, they might have a problem. That being said, Clay doesn't relish the idea of all of his dreams being Bleeds, either.

Having gone to bed on his own, and mostly awaken on his own, he finds himself in what at one point was Rebecca’s room. Unlike the rest of the hideout, tried to make shallowly cozy for their inevitable flee, this room is mostly bare and left to a sort of distant coldness that most basement hideouts have. He pushes his hand over his face and through his hair tiredly, trying to dispel the left over hallucinations of Desmond perched on the end of the bed.

In the waking world, there’s no sign of Kaczmarek. Sometimes he gets that feeling itching in the back of his head but otherwise, trying to give way to his consciousness is next to impossible. He gets the feeling Kaczmarek didn’t purposefully let Clay back out. That begs an unfortunate and difficult question as to what happened, then. Not a new question, but still an unanswered one. Clay can’t believe for a second, not now, that he somehow pushed Kaczmarek out of his own body.

Even if Kaczmarek was at his lowest in Abstergo, there’s no way Clay had enough of a presence to fully knock him out of his own head. Kaczmarek is _easily_ twice, if not more, the Clay he ever was. Now that they’re on the same playing level, both of them having been constructs, it’s even less likely that Clay is just overpowering him somehow. No, someone definitely wants him here or, at any rate, is trying to mash him and Kaczmarek together. Which, he’ll be honest, sounds like an absolute nightmare. Kaczmarek’s skill and ability with Clay’s temper and personality? _God_.

Clay wanders out of his room to find something to take his pills with.

Rebecca, Shaun, and Lucy are gathered on the other side of the room far from Desmond’s office. If they were talking, they aren’t anymore. Apparently there’s not enough sound proofing in this place to stop the Miles’ at full volume. Clay can only make out some of what’s going on, most of it still fairly muffled, and judging by everyone else being quiet, they’re trying to listen in to.

Clay swallows down his pills with water from the faucet.

He makes the assumption that they're keeping their distance so Desmond inevitably won't realise they're eavesdropping. Fortunately, Clay cares much less about this. He wanders to the door and promptly leans against the wall beside it to listen in, the other giving him an incredulous stare as he nonchalantly crosses his arms.

“This is not your team anymore,” Desmond snaps. “I know how much you like ‘forgetting’ that.”

“But you are my son,” William sneers back. “I am not trying to order you or your team, Desmond. I am trying to explain the situation to you.”

“I _know_ the situation. You refuse to understand that I disagree with you,” he bites.

“If you did ‘understand’ then we wouldn't be having this conversation,” comes the sharp retort.

“As usual, William, trying to play it off like anyone who doesn't see things your way is wrong,” Desmond snaps. “I am _not_ taking Clay anywhere near that fucking Apple.”

“Nor am I asking you to,” William barks. “His presence is not necessary to retrieve it. He is hardly in a state to take care of himself; he'll only be a liability, anyways.”

“God, you don't listen!” Desmond replies irritably. “He's not going to tell me where it is, William. The only way we get to the Apple is if he leads us there. This isn't an option.”

“And that's not suspicious to you?” William asks. “It's _Clay_. I believe you can get him to tell you anything, Desmond.”

“No, because Clay isn't an idiot,” he sneers. “The Apple is dangerous. The Apple is dangerous in the wrong hands. Right now, our best bet is keeping it exactly where it is.”

“And letting Abstergo claim it,” William says coldly. “We can not allow that to happen. The Apple needs to be secured. Desmond, I am your father-” Clay goes for the door before he even has a moment to think about it. Urgently, he yanks on the handle but it's locked. William and Desmond are both quiet for a moment, though.

“Desmond,” Clay says loudly.

“Kaczmarek, we're in the middle of something,” Desmond replies fleetingly. “It can wait.”

“It really can't, actually,” he assures. His mind reels as it tries to recollect memories he barely has. He forces himself not to Bleed again, edges of faint memories trying to claw their way to his vision. Whatever is causing this, it's in Kaczmarek’s instincts and he's going to trust them for now.

“Kaczmarek,” William says placidly. “Leave us.” Clay yanks at the door again. Desmond sighs.

“ _Alright_ , jeez,” he finally relents.

“I am your father and you will listen to me-” William repeats.

“William!” Clay barks loudly.

“Retrieve the Apple for the Brotherhood, Desmond.”

Clay blacks out. He doesn't _pass_ out, he notes, like he usually does. There's no falling sensation, no soft blur of having kind of been awake first, just a hard full stop. When he reawakens, slightly blurry and exhausted, he finds himself handcuffed on the couch. He doubts it's been long but what does he know, last time he lost an entire week.

William is tending to a bloody, and probably broken, nose on the other side of the room.

“Clay?” Shaun says tentatively and Clay turns to look at him. “You alright, mate?”

“You had a real bad Bleed there,” Rebecca murmurs. That wasn't a Bleed, he can say that much. He looks back at William then back again.

“Did you know forcibly restraining a Bleeding victim is probably the absolute worst thing you could do,” Clay comments. “Uncuff me.”

“Uh, Des has the key,” Rebecca assures. Of course he does.

“Kinky,” he replies. “I'm not Bleeding anymore so get me out of these.”

“You're a liability,” William says firmly. He's one to talk. As per usual, Clay opts to ignore him above all else.

“Not to all of us,” Shaun mumbles under his breath. “Desmond will be back in a minute, just hold on.”

“Great, Desmond left me here handcuffed and took the key with him,” Clay says. “That’s cool. That’s fair. Just pick ‘em already. I know you can.”

“We’re not picking your cuffs, Sixteen,” Rebecca says quietly. She glances at William briefly and Clay does as well, but he’s far enough away and focused enough on his nose to provide some sort of faux privacy. Shaun looks at Lucy and then nods at William shortly. She looks unamused but, after a moment, she wanders over to assure he’s properly distracted.

“Was it you that attacked William?” Shaun asks. Clay irritably struggles against his cuffs, the bite against his still healing wounds less than friendly.

“No,” he answers blandly. “I blacked out.”

“You need to tell Desmond where the Apple is, okay?” Rebecca stresses. Clay scoffs. He absolutely isn’t going to do that especially now. Desmond doesn’t even want the Apple; William does. He doesn’t _like_ William. “ _Clay_.”

“Sixteen, remember?” Clay replies with a sour grin.

“We don’t know what’s going to happen if Desmond can’t get to the Apple,” Shaun says. Clay arches a brow. “To you or him.”

“You gonna fill me in on what the _fuck’s_ happening around here at some point?” he bites back.

“Now really isn’t the time,” Rebecca replies, shooting a pointed look at William. They really don’t understand how little he cares about William’s opinions, feelings, thoughts, or really just him as a person. “Desmond knows he can find the Apple’s location through Ezio’s memories-”

“But he’s also been banned from using the animus that way,” Shaun insists. “Look, there is a chance he might seriously hurt you to find out, okay? You need to just tell him.”

“Including making you relieve Ezio’s memories _again_ ,” Rebecca says. “And we both know your brain is absolutely not going to handle that.” Clay looks between them. He doesn’t trust them, obviously; he doesn’t even know them. For all he knows, they’re still loyal to William and the Brotherhood. Hell, for all he actually knows, they might be turncoats, too. Clay looks back at William and Lucy again.

“Clay,” Rebecca stresses again. Clay bites back a nasty comment. “I _know_ you’re paranoid and I _know_ this sounds really bad but you need to listen to us. William being here is like, super super bad.”

“If William gets the Apple, he’s going to leave with it,” Clay says plainly. “If this thing gets out of our hands, there’s no telling what’s going to happen.”

“And we get that, we really do,” Shaun urges. “‘Scary mighty Apple’ oooo. You don't understand that we literally have no idea what will happen if Desmond can't complete his objective.” Unsurprisingly, Clay really doesn’t like how any of this is being phrased. He’s not stupid, he has his ideas about what’s going on around here, but they couldn’t have, right? That’s not the Brotherhood’s MO.

“As much as the Brotherhood having the Apple probably isn’t the best idea, the alternative is- possibly much worse,” Rebecca says. “Please, Desmond is Kaczmarek’s first priority and we need William out of here as soon as possible.” It doesn’t sound like he has much of a choice one way or another. If Desmond is going to be hell bent on getting to the Apple, Clay already knows he’ll go through great measures to make sure he gets what he wants.

Being forced back into the animus, back into Ezio’s memories? Rebecca’s right, he won’t be able to handle it.

Desmond returns uneventfully but the room falls to silence anyways. He pulls his helmet off, looks at Clay, then his father, and back again. Clay isn't sure if he'd go out and look for the Apple on his own nor if he could find it on his own. Chances are, he'd sooner torture Clay for the information. Rebecca and Shaun exchange looks again.

“Kaczmarek,” Desmond says. Clay stares back at him blandly. “Are you with us?”

“As much as normal,” he replies mildly. Desmond tosses the key to Rebecca.

“It's time to get the Apple,” he says as Rebecca helps him get his hands free again. Clay checks his wrists mutely. They're healing up decent enough but the repetitive strain is going to leave him with more scars than normal. Too bad he didn't get the satisfaction of punching William.

“What happened to it being safer where it is?” Clay asks.

“Abstergo lured me out with Hera,” Desmond answers.

“So giving them the Apple is the best idea, of course,” he says placidly. “Good thinking.”

“This is not a discussion,” Desmond says.

“I don’t take orders from you,” Clay replies, sharp and pointed, a reminder that he _isn’t_ Kaczmarek. He’s not their friend, he’s not on their team, and he’s not going to bend to Desmond’s want so easily.

“Then you don’t have a place on my team,” Desmond answers, just as cold. It’s also a reminder; Clay isn’t his Kaczmarek. Clay would say they’re at a stalemate but they’re not. It sounds like Rebecca and Shaun are fully convinced that Desmond will do whatever he needs to do to get to the Apple even if it means hurting his Kaczmarek in the process.

There’s a long silence.

“Whatever,” Clay finally says. “You’re the boss.”

“Lucy, William, you’re on back up in case this goes wrong,” Desmond instructs. “Rebecca, Shaun-”

“We’ll do what we always do, yeah, we got it,” Shaun assures. Though he doesn’t argue, or tell them any different, Desmond looks far from amused. For a moment, everyone moves into action. With the exception of Clay, of course. To Desmond, and hell to William, there is still a reasonably good chance that this is a trap placed by Abstergo somehow. Honestly, at this point for all Clay knows, it might be.

At least it’ll be over quick. 


End file.
